


Lives and Moves

by unklarity



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Femslash February
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-01
Updated: 2019-05-21
Packaged: 2019-10-20 10:36:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 29
Words: 31,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17620859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unklarity/pseuds/unklarity
Summary: A collection of Moicy AU oneshots.





	1. Zookeeper AU

**Author's Note:**

> Mustachebabs and I created the ultimate Moicy AU prompt list, and this is my attempt to fill them! Enjoy :)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angela and Moira are zookeepers.

“Moira, what are you doing in there? Another little kid just ran out crying.” Angela enters the reptile house with her arms crossed, and Moira stops in her tracks. Angela looks nice today, is she wearing a different color eyeshadow than normal? It seems darker, and her eyes stand out more-

“Moira, are you listening? You’ve really got to stop making kids cry.”

Moira looks down at the lizard on her arm, and then back up at Angela. “I didn’t do anything. I was just feeding Daisy when they ran out. But if you insist, I apologize for scaring children with my face.” She’s well aware of the effect she has on most children who visit the reptile house. Between the misunderstood creatures and Moira’s personality, most of them didn’t manage to stay very long.

Angela’s expression softens, and she uncrosses her arms, reaching a hand out to touch Moira’s cheek. “Your face is not scary, Moira, but scowling with a lizard in hand probably seems threatening to a ten-year-old.” Moira huffs, but lets the conversation drop as Angela leans over to pet Daisy’s head; the lizard moves further down Moira’s arm to get closer to Angela, her eyes sliding shut. At least someone’s having a good time, Moira thinks sourly.

“Now come on, bring Daisy outside for a minute so I can get a picture.” Angela turns toward the exit, looking over her shoulder as she walks. “The lighting is perfect out here.”

“Fine, just don’t get my face in there; I look even more terrifying in photos.”

“I think everyone on Instagram might disagree. That video of you and the boa? I had to disable the comments because I was getting jealous.”

Moira feels her face turn red. She’d been minding her own business a few months ago, giving a lecture on non-venomous snakes, and Angela had recorded a part of it and posted it on Instagram, only to run into Moira’s office the next day saying she’d gotten bombarded with thousands of comments, many of them saying something along the lines of “omg I wish I was that snake.” It had been mortifying, but Angela had insisted it was good exposure for their herpetology program, and Moira knew she was right. 

She picks up her pace to catch up to Angela, closing the door behind her and looking at Daisy, who by now is attempting to crawl up to her shoulder. “Don’t get too comfortable up there, ma’am. We will not have a repeat of the boa incident.”


	2. Chocolatier AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moira makes chocolate. Angela is a dessert critic. A match made in chocolate heaven.

_I snuck away from my responsibilities for an afternoon to visit a chocolate shop in London I’d been dying to try. It’s tiny, tucked away in an easily missed corner of the city, but don’t let that fool you._

To the inexperienced eye, she’s just an ordinary woman, but the second she steps into the shop, Moira recognizes her face. Angela Ziegler. She’s been a columnist for _le Rêveur_ for the last 5 years, and she runs her own dessert review blog that’s more popular than any print publication. Her voice is the most trusted and respected in the dessert world.

She’s also gorgeous. But that’s beside the point.

Moira has been reading Angela’s blog for almost as long as it’s been running. Someone had linked an article to her a few years ago and she’d been hooked. She did written reviews, video logs, and recorded unboxings of her favorite candies and chocolate, in addition to sharing her own recipes and visiting various chocolatiers and restaurants. 

She’d started out working for Ana Amari, one of the biggest names in the industry, and had slowly established her own fan base and clientele. Now, she teaches classes independently and travels for her blog, which has led her, somehow, to Moira’s tiny shop in London.

Moira watches from the kitchen window as Angela enters, and Olivia greets her, briefly explaining the menu and answering a few of her questions. She orders and takes a seat toward the back of the shop, right in Moira’s line of sight, taking off her coat and draping it over the back of her chair.

The order, among others, makes its way back to the kitchen, and Moira gets to work immediately. She can see Angela has chosen a few things, some already prepared (a small tarte, and chocolate mousse her and Amélie had recently perfected) and one that’s made on the spot - a homemade chocolate and raspberry ice cream with chocolate shell, that’s later covered in molten chocolate at the table when served.

It’s one of Moira’s favorite dishes to make, solely because she gets to have a little fun. Some days she makes chocolate fruits to encase the ice cream, sometimes animals, sometimes intricate globes made of chocolate lace; it largely depends on her mood, but it’s one of the small ways she gets to indulge her creative impulses. She's never made one exactly the same twice.

This time, she decides on a birdcage, complete with a tiny chocolate bird on top, as she’s eager to test out the new mold she’d just made. She pours the chocolate, waits for it to set, and then removes it from the mold, leaving in the freezer while she prepares the ice cream. When it’s all done, she places the two halves of the cage together, enclosing the ice cream, and adds a few last minute embellishments. She heats the chocolate, pouring it into a small container, and after taking a quick picture, walks it out to Olivia. 

On her way out of the kitchen, she passes Amélie, who raises an eyebrow at her.

“You’re out of the kitchen.”

Moira rolls her eyes. “So are you.”

Amélie merely shrugs. “I wanted to see her, but mostly I wanted to see how flustered you would get. I’m disappointed.” Before she can say anything else, Olivia has floated over, taking the plate from Moira and stopping to kiss Amélie on the cheek. 

“Looking good, babe,” she says, before walking back towards Angela’s table. Moira and Amélie watch her put the plate down next to the coffee and other little dishes she’d delivered previously. They can’t hear what she says, but both her and Angela are smiling. 

Moira, not particularly wanting to see Angela’s reaction, turns around, heading back into the kitchen without another word. She grabs the next order on her list and gets to work, listening to the music playing outside and telling herself it’s not important.

She’s always been a terrible liar.

 

A little while later, just when Moira has managed to push all thoughts related to gorgeous food critics from her mind, she hears Olivia tap at the kitchen door with her absurdly pointed fingernails. “Hey bruja, Blondie out there is asking to talk to you.”

Moira stops what she’s doing, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. “Is something wrong?”

Olivia shrugs. “Don’t think so. She just asked if she could meet you. I can just tell her you’re busy?”

Moira puts down the tool she’s been using to sculpt her chocolate, removing her gloves and wiping her hands on a nearby towel. “No, it’s fine,” she replies, trying to quell her nerves. She’s fairly successful, pushing any speculation to the back of her mind and following Olivia out of the kitchen.

“Well, here goes nothing,” she says to herself.

When she walks over to the table, Angela is stirring sugar into a small cup of coffee. “You must be Moira,” she says, putting down her spoon so she can hold out her hand. Moira shakes it.

“I am,” she says. 

Angela beams. “I’m Angela Zeigler. It’s so nice to meet you. You’re doing something incredible here, you know.”

Moira can only stare. Angela motions to the empty chair across from her, biting her lip. “Would you mind sitting with me for a minute? I know you’re busy, but I’d love to talk if you have time.” 

That seems to break Moira out of her trance. And she smiles, just a little, pulling out the chair and taking a seat. Angela takes a sip of her coffee, watching Moira over the edge of her cup.

“That sounds wonderful,” Moira answers.

_I promise you, you will regret missing out on this once-in-a-lifetime experience. Moira is an absolute artist with chocolate. I know I’ll be back; in fact, you couldn’t pay me to stay away._


	3. Magic Shop AU, Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angela is a witch, and Moira doesn't believe in magic. Too bad she's picked up quite a nasty curse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This totally got away from me and I had to cut it off to be able to post it, but expect a sequel sometime this month :)

Angela doesn't bother looking up as the bell over the door rings; within a second, Lena has popped up from behind the counter to greet their guests, presumably with her ever-present grin. "Can I help you?" Angela hears her ask, and by the voice of the answering man she can tell immediately who it is.

She continues her work, pouring ground cloves into a small paper bag, and once it’s the weight she’s looking for, she removes the little bag from the scale and folds it shut, stapling it for extra security.

It’s been a while since she’s seen Gabriel, and she has to admit, she’s not entirely thrilled to hear his voice in her shop so late at night. She finally lifts her head, but she doesn’t look at him just yet, choosing instead to observe his companion: a tall, red-haired woman whose right arm is almost entirely purple. She’s holding it close to her chest, and it’s clear from her expression that she’s in pain.

 _Wonderful,_ she thinks. _He’s brought me trouble again._

“Lena," she calls, "I'll take care of Mr. Reyes and his friend in a moment." Both of their heads whip toward her, the woman’s widening in shock. Lena seems unfazed, as always, and she nods, carrying on with her work.

“Gabriel, it’s good to see you again, even if the circumstances are always less than ideal,” Angela says, regarding him with a mix of fondness and exasperation. “I do wish you’d called before dropping in though. I do believe my evening plans are about to be interrupted.” She heads to the sink, washing her hands and drying them on a worn towel, before shedding her apron and storing it on its hook.

Gabriel, at least, has the nerve to look guilty, crossing the room quickly and enveloping her in a hug. “I’m sorry, Ang,” he says, squeezing her shoulders. “I wouldn’t have come this late if it wasn’t important. This,” he gestures to his companion, who, upon further inspection, is very handsome - impossibly tall, with mismatched eyes and high cheekbones, “is Moira. I think someone’s trying to kill her.”

The redhead, Moira, scoffs, although Angela thinks the intended effect may be lost by the wince that follows. “Gabriel, will you please stop with this hex nonsense? I need to go to a doctor, not a-“

Angela holds up a hand, and Moira takes the hint, quieting. “Gabriel, what makes you think she’s cursed? Other than the obvious.” She gestures vaguely at Moira’s arm, which, up close, is far more disconcerting. The purple color is angry, traveling up past her elbow, and the veins in her arm are pronounced, almost like they’re going to burst. 

“Can we sit, Angela?” It’s a long story.”

She looks between them, at Gabe nearly wringing his hands and Moira rolling her eyes. They’re going to need tea, and she’s going to need a drink.

“Lena, if you don’t mind, flip the closed sign over and let’s put on the kettle.”

Just a little faster than she normally would, Lena hops to the door. “I’ll text Em that I’ll be a bit late. You go sit, I’ll get the tea.”

“Thank you,” Angela calls to her, leading her visitors to the kitchen. “And Lena?”

“Already on it, Angie. Red wine ok?”

She’s so lucky to have such a good assistant.

“Perfect, dear.”

-

“I don’t think Talon likes whatever she’s been digging into. And you know they’re not above something like this.” Gabriel’s voice is hushed, as if someone is under the table, listening in. Angela pats his hand, sliding him one of the cups Lena’s just put on the table. A moment later, she passes one to Moira as well. She takes a deep breath, watching Moira sip her tea with her good hand while the other is cradled in her lap. 

“I hate to break it to you, darling, but you may have made some very bad people very angry.” 

Moira flushes at her comment, nearly spitting out her mouthful of tea. “I fail to see how any of this means I’ve been cursed, and not poisoned. I need to go to the emergency room.” She winces again, tucking her arm closer to her side. “Curses aren’t real, Gabriel. We’ve been over this. Magic isn’t _real._ ”

Gabriel looks at Angela, as if to say _do you see what I have to deal with_ , and she shrugs, giving him a _well, she’s your friend_ in return. Clearly, this isn’t as simple as breaking a curse, if Moira doesn’t even believe in magic. She’s going to have to take a bit of an unusual approach.

“Moira, what would you say is wrong with you exactly?”

Moira looks over at her, and Angela can see the fear in her eyes, just a bit more prominent than it was when they’d first arrived. “I don’t know,” she says with a sigh. “I guess I’ve been poisoned, or bitten by something venomous, or something like that.”

Gabriel clears his throat. “What she’s not mentioning is the rest of it. She hasn’t been sleeping, and when she does, she has nightmares so bad she wakes up screaming.” He pauses, clearly waiting for Moira to interrupt, but she stays silent. “There was blood coming out of her fucking eyes last night, Ang. The arm is a new development as of this morning, and it finally started hurting bad enough that she agreed to let me take her to you.”

“I believe I specified a hospital, Gabriel.”

“I told her I would help. You and I both know no hospital is going to help her,” Gabriel explains. As if to prove his point, Moira doubles over in pain again, closing her eyes and gritting her teeth. “Look,” she breathes out, “I don’t care anymore. Either fix it or put me out of my misery.” 

Gabe rolls his eyes, but Angela nods, reaching out her hand to touch Moira’s good arm. “I haven’t ever seen it quite this bad, but I believe I know what sort of hex this is, and how to break it. It’s not going to be pleasant, though.”

“Just do me a favor and knock me out first."

Angela raises an eyebrow but doesn’t object. “That can be arranged,” she says. Moira exhales loudly, letting her forehead hit the table.

-

“Good morning, sleepyhead.” Angela smiles from the doorway as Moira sits up in bed, rubbing her eyes. “How are you feeling?”

Moira turns to look at her, the haze of sleep still in her eyes. “I feel fine, why?” 

Angela sighs. “I’m not sure if you’re being stubborn or you’re just not awake yet, but either way, I’m glad you’re ok. Gabriel’s downstairs if you’d like to join us for breakfast.” 

“Okay, I just-“ Moira stops mid-sentence, her eyes going wide, and looks down at her arm. No discoloration, and it seems like she isn’t in pain any longer. All in all, everything seems to be back to normal. She flexes her fingers, and Angela can’t help smirking at the disbelief on her face.

“We’ll be downstairs when you’re ready, Moira,” she says as she turns around, heading to the top of the stairs. “Bathroom is the first door on your right.” With that, she makes her way to the kitchen, sitting down next to Gabriel, who looks up from the book he’s reading momentarily to point at her cup. “I poured you more coffee,” he says, and then looks right back down. Angela laughs, thanking him and reaching for the bowl of sugar.

“You know, you could come visit when no one is in danger of grievous bodily harm.”

Gabriel grunts. “I guess I could.”

“Just saying.”

“I know,” he replies, closing the book and sighing. “Thank you, by the way. I know that wasn’t as easy as you made it look. I’ll get you whatever you need as payment.”

“Curse breaking is difficult, Gabriel. But you’re welcome - and I don’t need any payment. You know I’m here to help you whenever you need me. I just wish you weren’t such a magnet for trouble.”

“Hey, I had nothing to do with this. It’s all Moira’s fault this time.”

“What’s my fault?” Moira appears at the bottom of the stairs, looking a bit rumpled in yesterday’s clothes but otherwise intact. Gabriel points to a chair, and Moira sits down, taking the tea he hands her and cradling it with both hands. 

“Seems like you’re feeling a bit better.” The smugness in Gabriel’s voice makes Angela laugh, although she covers her mouth in an attempt to muffle the sound. Moira frowns, ignoring him and looking over at Angela instead.

“Thank you. For… whatever you did. I really don’t want to hear what it was, but thanks.”

Angela smiles. “I won’t tell you, but it was all very spooky.”

“Now you’re just making fun of me.” Is that a pout? Oh, Angela is going to enjoy this.

“I wouldn’t dream of it, my dear.”

She decides Moira’s answering blush is payment enough.


	4. Writer and Editor AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moira is a writer, and Angela is her long-suffering editor.

_Moira, don’t forget your draft deadline is Tuesday! Let me know if you’re behind. -A_

_I’m coming tomorrow to pick up whatever you have. Please tell me you have something. -A_

_Moira, open the door._

Angela taps her foot, grumbling as her phone vibrates. 

_door’s open. don’t be loud._

A second later, she gets another message. 

_also no cute little A at the end?_

Shoving her phone in one of the outside pockets on her bag, Angela opens the door, shutting it just a tiny bit louder than she would normally just to be spiteful. She drops her bag and coat on the kitchen table, walking straight to Moira’s room. It’s pitch black, and just as she walks in, she hears Moira’s voice, muffled by her blankets.

“Nobody’s home.”

Angela sighs, wondering (not for the first time) why she ever agreed to be Moira’s editor, and marches to the window, opening the blinds with absolutely no preamble. Moira, who had just made the mistake of lowering the blankets from her face, shrieks and covers her eyes with one hand. “I hate you,” she says, batting her other hand weakly in Angela’s direction. “So much.”

“No you don’t. And you must have been up if you opened the door.” 

Moira doesn’t answer. Angela steps over a pile of clothes to perch precariously on the edge of the bed. “Moira, the sooner you get up, the sooner I can get what I need and leave.” She feels Moira shift slightly, and then there’s a tug on her sweater. 

“If I didn’t have anything, would you be mad?” Angela barely hears her, and when she looks down, Moira’s eyes are still covered. She takes a deep breath and reaches over, lifting Moira’s hand away from her face. Moira resists at first, but ultimately lets Angela move her hand. Her fingers are freezing, but Angela doesn’t let go.

“I would be worried. What’s going on, Moira? You’re not answering my messages and I’m pretty sure you haven’t left the house since the last time I saw you.” 

“I’m fine,” Moira says, “just tired.” After a second, she adds, “And that’s a lie. I’ve been out.” Angela’s not sure she believes that, but she doesn’t feel like arguing with Moira about whether or not taking out the trash counts as “going out.” She scoots a little closer to Moira on the bed and leans her head on her free hand, watching Moira try to ignore her. She does look tired; there are dark circles under her eyes and she’s even more pale than usual. Her fingers are shaking, and Angela realizes she’s probably been chain smoking, despite Angela’s best efforts to get her to stop. 

She sighs, and Moira meets her eyes for only a second. They’re cloudy. She seems so far away.

“Come get coffee with me, then. An hour. That’s all I ask.”

Moira rolls her eyes, but Angela doesn’t miss the small smile that disappears just as quickly as it came. “Fine,” Moira says. “Get out while I change.” She squeezes Angela’s hand once before letting go and standing, heading over to her closet. 

Angela takes the hint, wandering out of the bedroom and into the living room, curling up in the armchair where she always sits. She hears a thud, and a curse, and shuts her eyes, trying to fend off the headache that’s been lurking behind her eyes since she walked in the door.

Twenty minutes later, a door shuts, and Angela opens her eyes as she hears footsteps getting closer and then stopping. She stands up, crossing the room to get her coat.

“Alright, come on. Let’s go.” She calls to Moira, putting on the coat and slinging her bag over her shoulder. Moira looks over at her from where she’s digging through papers on the coffee table. “Hang on,” she says, picking up a folder and inspecting it before tossing it to the side. “I had something I wanted to show you, but I can’t find it.” She resumes her rummaging for a few moments, and Angela leans against the wall of the entryway, watching her with an amused grin. She’s not sure she’s ever seen Moira’s house without an abnormal amount of clutter, but this is certainly the worst it’s looked in a while; whenever she’s working (or not working) on a draft, she tends to just let papers collect everywhere. Tables, chairs, countertops. Nowhere is safe, and Moira won’t even realize how bad it is until she’s done writing.

If she’s ever done writing.

“Got it! Okay, we can go now.” Moira exclaims, holding something up victoriously. Angela looks at her curiously, and she just shrugs, grabbing her coat and heading for the door.

“Nice to see you looking like a human again,” Angela says as she opens the door, letting Moira exit first. When they’re both out in the hall, Moira apparently decides her comment is worth responding to.

“What can I say? You haven’t _really_ yelled at me yet, so today seems like it’s going pretty well. I figured I could at least dress for the occasion.”

Angela considers her for a minute as they walk to the car. She’s dressed in all black, except for a skinny purple tie and her tan coat. It’s been a long time since Moira’s looked so well put-together, and she doesn’t want to ruin her mood by bringing up the book just yet, so she decides to stay quiet. She opens the car door and slides into the driver’s seat, surprised when Moira’s arm almost hits her in the face.

“Sorry,” Moira says as she moves her hand back, just shy of Angela’s nose. “Before we go, this is for you.” Angela tries to focus on the small object in Moira’s grip. It’s a-

“Why are you giving me a flash drive?”

Really, in hindsight, she should have known.

“It’s the book.”

Angela takes a deep breath. “The book.”

“Yes. The whole book.”

Neither of them speak until Angela reaches over and pinches Moira’s wrist, grabbing the flash drive before it can drop in her lap. “Moira O’Deorain, you are the single most _infuriating_ person I have ever met.”

Moira takes her hand before she has the chance to move away. “Are you sure about that? I feel there’s a better word you could use. Lovable, maybe? Talented? I can think of a few more, but-”

Angela cuts her off with a look. Moira laughs, and Angela wonders how long it’s been since she’s heard genuine laughter come out of her mouth. “I guess since we’ve lost the need for coffee and a pep talk, you won’t mind if we get some lunch instead? I think we’ve probably got some things to talk about.” 

“Infuriating,” Angela repeats, feeling her face heat up as Moira twines their fingers together, “is the perfect word.”

Moira smiles, leaning just a little closer. 

“If you say so.”


	5. Ghost AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moira is a ghost, and Angela has just moved into a haunted house.

When they told her the house was haunted, Angela had scoffed, signing the papers with a smile that clearly said she knew better than to believe something so ridiculous.

Now, as she sits in the plush armchair in the living room with a glass of Pinot Noir in hand, staring at what she can only describe as a fucking _ghost_ , she regrets her arrogance.

“I know I may have had a little too much to drink, but I feel like this isn’t fair,” she grumbles, rubbing her eyes. The ghost is still there when she glances up again, this time looking even more solid. Angela considers getting up to get the bottle of wine and see if that quiets her overactive imagination.

Instead, she stares at the ghost, who stares back at her with a smirk. “It’s awfully rude to move into someone’s home and not even introduce yourself,” it says, and Angela jumps.

The ghost is talking. 

She puts down her glass. “It’s _also_ awfully rude to scare someone like that,” she counters, taking a deep breath when she hears the shakiness of her voice. 

“Fair enough,” comes the answer, and suddenly, the ghost is gone. Angela looks at her reflection in the wine glass, before draining it in one long sip.

-

She’s curling her hair the next morning when the ghost appears again. Angela burns the edge of her hand when she notices movement behind her, a string of curses leaving her mouth. “What do you want?” she groans, dropping the curling iron in the sink and digging though the cabinet to find her first aid kit. The ghost laughs. The fucking _ghost_ laughs.

Angela makes a mental note to call her realtor. 

“You’re German,” the ghost says, sounding amused. Angela shakes her head, and answers without thinking, “Swiss, actually.” Here she is, talking to a ghost in her bathroom. She should have kept looking for a house with a bigger yard, she tells herself. This is her own fault for being impatient.

“My name is Moira.” The ghost tells her, and then turns, disappearing through the wall. Angela turns back to the sink, bandaging her hand with the occasional glare in the direction of the curling iron.

When she comes downstairs for breakfast, Moira is sitting at the kitchen table in the dim light, staring out the window. 

“I’m Angela, if we’re apparently doing introductions,” she says as she opens the refrigerator. She’s still not sure why she’s even talking to the ghost, but she figures she might as well. At best, maybe there’s a gas leak, and she’s delusional; at worst, her house is haunted and she’s going to have to move out. At this point, talking to Moira isn’t going to hurt, is it?

She closes the door, carrying some ingredients to the counter. Moira watches her intently, eyes following Angela’s every movement, “Nice to meet you, Angela. I apologize for scaring you.” 

Angela raises an eyebrow, doubting the sincerity of that statement but not wanting to accuse _the ghost haunting her house_ of lying. “It’s alright,” she says. “Clearly, I was not expecting company when I moved in here.”

“That much is obvious.”

Great. Her ghost is sassy.

-

“I’m sure you don’t want me here,” Moira says as Angela takes a bite of her eggs. Angela doesn’t really have it in her to object, and she has a feeling that’s obvious, so she stays quiet, waiting for Moira to continue. “Do you think you would be able to help me with something?”

Trying not to seem too eager, Angela shrugs. “Maybe? What do you need help with?” She watches Moira’s expression fall, suddenly feeling like she’s said the wrong thing. Moira looks over her shoulder, back toward the living room. “There  
is something hidden under the fireplace, and I need you to retrieve it.”

Angela almost asks why she can’t do it herself, and then she realizes _duh,_ Moira isn’t exactly corporeal, and probably can’t touch things. So she nods, standing and making her way through the doorway that separates the kitchen from the rest of the first floor. She doesn’t check to see if Moira is following her, but when she arrives at her destination, the ghost is already seated on an ottoman, legs crossed and hands steepled under her chin.

“As you can imagine, none of the people in this house stayed very long. If they could even see me, they never bothered to try and speak with me.”

Angela frowns. “So no one ever knew why you were still here.”

“Exactly. It’s a silly thing, really, but I need to make sure. Whatever you find in there,” she points to the fireplace grate, “is yours, but you have to promise me to keep it. Don’t throw it away, and don’t sell it.” Moira looks at her expectantly. “Swear that you won’t.”

Angela finds that she couldn’t refuse if she tried, with the ghost’s eyes on her the way they are. “I swear,” she replies. “Just tell me what I need to do.”

If someone had told her a week ago that she’d be pulling apart the fireplace in her new house at the direction of a ghost, she would have laughed. And yet, laughing at the idea of a ghost had gotten her into this mess in the first place. All Angela knows for sure is she’s not going to sign on a house so quickly next time, no matter how nice the porch is.

“It should be in a box somewhere under there,” comes Moira’s excellent direction, and Angela glares at the ghost from the floor. “Thank you, Moira, that’s very helpful.”

“I aim to please,” the ghost says, tapping her nails against her jaw. 

Luckily, Angela sees a flash of metal under a piece of brick, and she lifts it up, seeing a wooden box with a brass latch underneath. “Is this what you’re talking about, Moira.”

“It must be,” comes her answer. Moira picks her head up and Angela carries the box over to the ottoman, sitting on the floor beside Moira. She opens the latch, very carefully, looking inside the box.

There are a few stacks of letters, opened, and a black velvet pouch with a gold ring inside, but the thing that stands out to Angela is a white envelope at the very bottom. There is only one word on the outside of the envelope, and it sends a chill down her spine.

_Moira._

Somehow, that’s the thing that pushes Angela over the edge. This whole time, she’d held a hope at the back of her mind that she’d been imagining all this, but this proves that the ghost in front of her is exactly that: a ghost. Not a figment of her imagination, not her exhausted brain trying to tell her something.

Ghosts were real, and there was one in her house.

“You were right,” is all she can say. 

Moira stays silent, staring at the letter in Angela’s hand, and after a few minutes, she looks up.

“Would you do me one last favor? Read it out loud?”

Angela nods, suddenly unable to speak. Her heart is caught in her throat. She slides her finger under the flap of the envelope, opening it, and pulls out a letter, written on paper so thin she can almost see through it.

_Dear Moira,_

_If you’re reading this, I’m already gone. I don’t want you to blame yourself. I’m so sorry it had to be this way. You and I were never meant to be together in this life, and I can only hope things go differently in the next._

_Forever yours,_

_Angela_

-

Angela covers her mouth, inhaling sharply against her palm and feeling tears slide down over her fingers. She takes a deep breath, steeling herself, and looks up at Moira, but the ottoman is empty.

The house is quiet.

Angela exhales.


	6. Greek Mythology AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moira rules the Underworld, and someone's just fallen through the ground into her domain. Any ideas?

The first Moira hears about it is from Olivia, the nosy brat. She’s on the sofa, filing her nails to their signature point, and she pauses when Moira enters the throne room. “So, I heard some girl just fell through the ground and right into your turf,” she says casually.

“What?”

“Oh, thought you knew about that. I guess you were too busy fucking around on Olympus to pay attention to what goes on around here.” She looks down at her nails, and then back at Moira. “Luckily, I’m always watching.”

Moira sighs. _Great, another problem to take care of._ She’d already spent the day trying to convince Reinhardt that no, he didn’t need to introduce her to his daughter, that she was perfectly content being single, and that no, marrying the goddess of Spring would not be hilarious irony; now, there’s people just _falling_ through her ceiling.

Just wonderful.

“Yes, thank you for being so vigilant, Olivia. The Underworld would simply fall apart without you.”

“Oh, I know.”

Moira silently curses the boneheaded god of the Heavens for cheating at cards and leaving her down here. The inhabitants of Olympus are usually too drunk to employ the amount of sarcasm she has to deal with on a daily basis, and she’s certain she could get more reading done there, at the very least, instead of herding around a city full of ghosts. However, she has to admit that it’s been _ages_ since something entertaining happened, and now that she thinks of it, this might be the perfect opportunity to break the monotony.

“So, Olivia, where is our little intruder?” Moira asks, trying her best to sound bored. Olivia shrugs, grabbing a bottle of nail polish and balancing it on her knee. 

“Gabe’s taking care of her, he said she hit her head when she passed out.”

Moira nods gravely. “Well, I guess I should go down there and say hello. After all, what kind of host would I be if I didn’t check and see how she was doing?”

Olivia has taken to ignoring her, instead concentrating her attention on her nails. “Whatever you say, boss,” she mumbles as Moira makes her exit and heads for the stairs.

When she arrives in Gabriel’s “office,” she immediately knows something is amiss. For one, the smell of flowers is everywhere, the aroma all but smacking her in the face as she enters. Secondly, Gabriel has his mask off, and he gives Moira a tired grin from his desk.

“Hey. I assume Olivia told you?”

Moira nods. She looks around, confused. Normally, when Gabriel shows his face to mortals, they die. So why isn’t he wearing his mask? “Wait, did you _kill_ her?”

“What? Of course I didn’t kill her!” Gabriel shouts. 

“Well, you’re not wearing the mask.”

A look of realization dawns on Gabriel’s face. “Oh, Olivia didn’t tell you? She’s one of us.”

Before Moira can answer, or even think about what that means, a loud yawn comes from the other side of the room. 

“You ok over there Angela?” Gabriel calls out, looking over to the couch. Moira follows his gaze, wondering why that name sounds so familiar; suddenly, her eyes land on something that should definitely not be sitting in the Reaper’s office in the middle of the Underworld. 

“Oh, hello. You must be Moira! I’m Angela. My father’s told me all about you.” A pause, in which Moira realizes her mouth has fallen open. “Um, sorry about your ceiling.”

When Olivia had told her a girl fell into the Underworld, Moira had assumed she’d find a mortal, struggling to survive in the city of the dead. But she’d been very, very wrong. Instead, this girl seems quite comfortable, if not wildly out of place. Her blonde hair is threaded with flowers and leaves that still somehow have life left in them, and she bites her lip, giving Moira a guilty look.

 _No, marrying the goddess of Spring would not be hilarious irony_ , she hears herself telling Reinhardt this morning; she finds herself wishing she could take it back.

“Don’t worry about it,” she says, waving her hand, and Angela’s answering smile lights up her whole face.

Moira is so, so screwed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was a struggle to write today but I refused to not post, so sorry if this is a pile of hot garbage haha. Hopefully I will be back on my game tomorrow!


	7. Veterinarian AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angela is a vet. Moira is a concerned bunny parent. Oscar is over it.

“It’s going to be alright, Oscar,” Moira whispers, stroking the rabbit’s ears through the the top of the carrier. She gets no answer, only an indignant sniff, and she sighs, scratching the top of Oscar’s head idly. Her eyes are glued to the front desk, waiting for her name to be called.

Moira’s had the number of this vet since she moved a few years ago, but thankfully, she hasn’t had to use it until now. It’s the only place in the area that treats exotic animals, so when she’d noticed Oscar was hopping strangely, she’d called for an appointment right away. 

He’s normally a very calm rabbit, but even with Moira’s hand on his head, he seems very nervous, fidgeting and shaking despite her best efforts to comfort him. Luckily, it’s only a few more minutes before someone calls her over to the desk, leading into a room labeled #3. A tech takes their information and helps her coax Oscar out of his carrier and onto the examination table, and then they take their leave, assuring Moira that a doctor will be with her shortly. 

Before the door can swing shut completely, a hand catches it, pulling it back open, and a woman walks in the room, clipboard in hand. She has a gentle smile on her face as she looks up at Moira, holding out her free hand. “I’m Dr. Ziegler,” she says as Moira shakes her hand. “It’s nice to meet you.” Her blonde hair is pulled into a high ponytail, and she’s wearing a white lab coat over a set of scrubs patterned with small cartoon animals. 

“I’m Moira,” she replies, and looks down toward Oscar. “And this is Oscar. I think he hurt his foot somehow, he won’t put any pressure on it and won’t let me touch it.”

Dr. Ziegler puts her clipboard down on one of the counters, approaching the table and bending down until she’s eye-level with Oscar. “Well, hello there, Oscar.” She holds out a hand for him to sniff, and when he does, she scratches under his chin. “The tech said you just noticed this today?” she asks Moira, who nods. “Do you think you could hold him while I check his foot? That might keep him from getting too nervous.”

“Alright.” Moira scoops Oscar into her arms, holding him close to her chest, one hand supporting his legs and the other on top of his head. “Is this ok?” she asks, hoping she doesn’t seem as nervous as she feels. She can tell Oscar is shaking, but he doesn’t fuss, instead simply pushing Moira’s hand with his nose until it’s settled over his eyes.

“That’s perfect.” Dr. Zeigler says. She’s quick, not wasting any time while inspecting Oscar’s foot, stopping every few minutes if he seems stressed, letting Moira calm him down before she resumes her examination. Eventually, she gives him a little scratch on the back and walks back to the counter, making some notes on her clipboard. “Luckily, there’s no fracture, just some inflammation, so we’ll put a splint on there and that should do the trick. He’s probably not going to like it, but try and get him to keep it on for at least a day, and make sure he takes it easy.” 

Moira takes a deep breath, beyond relieved that it’s nothing serious. “Thanks, Doctor.” 

Dr. Ziegler giggles as Moira lowers Oscar back down onto the table and he immediately hops back over to her, gluing himself to her side. “You can call me Angela,” she says, watching as the rabbit rubs his chin against Moira’s hand. “He’s so attached to you, it’s adorable. How long have you had him? He clearly feels safe wherever you are.”

Moira blushes slightly, looking down at Oscar when she answers. “I adopted him about 2 years ago. Someone had dumped him outside and I found him hopping around in my yard. I was surprised he even let me pick him up. I called an animal shelter, but by then he’d been in my house for a few days and I didn’t have the heart to give him up.”

“Well, isn’t he a very lucky rabbit, then?” Moira is glad Angela seems preoccupied with Oscar and not with the blush on her face, which seems to be getting gradually worse. “Hang on a minute while I get a splint and a bandage, ok?”

“Ok,” Moira says, and Angela is out the door with a “be right back,” leaving her and Oscar to themselves for a moment. After a few deep breaths, she pulls a chair over to the examination table so she can sit, leaning her arms on the table’s surface. Oscar leans back against her, looking annoyed that she dared move in the first place. 

“Sorry to inconvenience you,” she mumbles, rolling her eyes. Oscar yawns, stretching out along the length of her arm. Moira strokes his fur absentmindedly, thinking about what Angela had said. She’ll probably take a break from her research for a day or two to make sure Oscar heals without any problems and doesn’t try to pull off the splint. Honestly, the break would be welcome anyway; she’s not going to say no to relaxing on the couch for a little while on bunny watch.

The door opens again, and Oscar sits up, suddenly on alert. Angela comes back inside with a small rolling table, rolling her chair over next to Moira and sitting down. She sets her hand down next to Oscar, letting the rabbit sniff her again, moving to pet him on the head once he’s finished with his inspection. “Do you think you could hold him again?” she asks, unraveling a section of bandage and cutting it with a pair of tiny scissors. Moira nods, picking Oscar up and letting him rest his head against her shoulder. 

Moira moves to stand, but Angela stops her with a hand on her elbow. “You can sit,” she says, rolling her own chair closer and placing the splint in place. Surprisingly, Oscar stays relatively quiet, only shuffling around slightly when Angela is almost finished wrapping his foot. She waits for him to settle down a bit in Moira’s grip before she cuts the excess fabric off, turning to Moira with a grin. “Alright, I think we’re all done here. I’d like to see him in four or five days to make sure everything is healing ok, but as long as he doesn’t move around too much, he should be just fine.”

Moira smiles back at her with genuine relief. “Thank you, Angela.”

“No problem, Moira. It was a pleasure to meet both of you.” She gives Oscar one last pat on the head, and when she pulls her hand away, he lowers his ears, turning in Moira’s hold. “You behave yourself now, sir; don’t be giving Moira any more scares, please.”

After Oscar is back in his carrier, Angela opens the door for Moira, giving her a cute little wave. 

“See you two next week!”

Moira waves back, positive she’s blushing again, but strangely, she doesn’t mind.


	8. Librarian AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angela is a university librarian and Moira is a professor with a strange book habit.

The first book Angela notices is _Mules of Love_. Then it’s _The Collected Works of Emily Dickinson_. Then _The 5 Love Languages_. A week later, it’s _How to Make Anyone Fall in Love with You_. They’re always dropped back in the box within a few days, and never when she’s working. 

Her name is Moira O’Deorain, and she’s infuriatingly handsome. Tall, with impossible bone structure and mismatched eyes so bright they’re unsettling. Each time she checks out a book, she saunters over to the circulation desk with a smirk, placing one single book on the counter and holding her library card out between two fingers. 

She’s definitely a professor, because her library card has a faculty sticker on it, not that Angela pays attention - in fact, the only reason she knows Moira’s name is that Angela’s always at the desk when she checks out. She also doesn’t pay attention to Moira’s perfectly manicured nails or the ridiculous smirk that’s always plastered on her face as she looks down at Angela, waiting for her to scan whatever title she’s picked out this time.

No, she doesn’t care in the least, which is why she’s definitely not spending her Monday morning shift on the university website, searching the faculty directory. It’s a bit tricky to find her because of the apostrophe in her name, but Angela is a patient woman.

_Moira O’Deorain  
Full Time Professor, Genetics & Molecular Biology_

Angela stares at the title for a long time, wondering what a science professor is doing checking out love poems and self-help books in the university library instead of, well, whatever science teachers are supposed to check out. She finally snaps out of her trance when a bell rings, signaling the library doors opening; she quickly closes her browser tab despite the fact that no one’s near enough to see her screen, and immediately feels silly. 

She’s still not sure what the point of it all is, and that’s probably what bothers her the most. Deciding not to think about genetics professors or love poems anymore today, she rolls over the cart of returned books, determined to get some work done.

A few minutes of peace go by before the bell dings again, and Angela sighs as the object of her perpetual confusion enters the library, disappearing almost immediately into the stacks. When she does show up, Angela notices she tends to stick to the same routine: She heads right to the stacks, then sits at a table for a few hours reading. She normally stays for a few hours before packing up, and she always checks out a book before she leaves.

Today, she has to strange urge to find out why. It wouldn’t kill her to start a conversation, would it? Certainly Moira O’Deorain isn’t too intimidating and tall and handsome to stop her from indulging her curiosity, Angela thinks.

She tries to put the whole thing from her mind again as she continues alphabetizing the books to be reshelved, and she does a pretty good job of ignoring Moira when she heads over to a table near the library cafe to do her reading. Such a good job, that Angela doesn’t notice her again until she’s snapped out of her thoughts by the sound of nails tapping on the surface of the circulation desk. Moira’s looking over at her expectantly, and oh, she’s lost track of time, hasn’t she? 

So much for coming up with a conversation starter.

Angela rolls her chair back over to the counter, and looks at Moira, who’s wearing her ever-present smirk. “Checking those out?” she asks, taking the library card from Moira’s outstretched hand and scanning it, watching as the professor’s information populates on the screen.

“Just the top one,” Moira replies. “I’m returning the bottom one.” Today, it’s _One Hundred Love Sonnets_ that she’s checking out, and Angela decides it’s now or never, encouraged by the fact that Moira’s breaking her routine enough to return a book in person. She scans the barcode on the book, registering the serial number under Moira’s account.

“Okay, it’ll be due the 23rd. You’ll have to tell me what you think; he’s one of my favorites.”

Moira freezes, her hand grasping one edge of the book as Angela holds the other one, and Angela thinks Moira might be blushing. Or, it could just be the light. Either way, she’s going to count it as a victory.

“I’ll be sure to let you know once I finish it,” Moira says, smirk sliding neatly back on her face, and Angela finds herself wishing she could see the other woman flustered just a little longer. 

“Good. Have a nice day.” If Angela had anything witty to say, she’d say it now, but all she can manage is one last smile as Moira turns and leaves. She takes a deep breath, grabbing the book of the counter and opening the front cover, scanning it without looking.

Strangely, there’s no beep, so Angela looks down, immediately giggling at what she finds there. Placed right over the barcode is a blue sticky note, monogrammed with an M; the only thing written on the sticky note is a phone number, and a question mark underneath it.

_Hm_. Not bad for a Monday morning.


	9. Ice Skating AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angela is a professional ice skater, and she’s in a little bit of a pinch.

“You’re just going to have to find a new partner, Angela. There’s no way Genji’s going to be able to skate in time.”

“Are you kidding?” Angela groans, holding her head in her hands. This can’t be happening, not the day before the regional qualifiers. “I might as well quit, there’s no way I’m going to be able to find someone and teach them the routine. I’ll just make a fool of myself. At least if I forfeit, it’ll be less of an embarrassment.”

Gabriel shrugs, sitting down next to her and patting her shoulder. “I hate to bring up the elephant in the room, Angela, but-“

Angela’s head shoots up and she levels Gabriel with a glare. “Absolutely _not_.”

“Ang. She sits and watches you every day. You know she knows the routine.”

“Yes, I know that, Gabriel. She points out every one of my mistakes. And that’s why the answer is no.”

“All I’m saying is it’s better than nothing, Angela. You know she’s good, so let her work with you instead of against you. She’s not competing in doubles this year, so technically you could use her as a sub.”

A sigh escapes her lips, and Angela looks up into the bleachers. Since she’s not on the ice, Moira isn’t paying one bit of attention, her eyes glued to her phone instead of the rink. Her pride wants to tell Gabe no, absolutely not. Anything but that.

But she really wants to skate.

She and Genji had perfected this routine, choosing not to join the singles competition and focus all of their energy on creating and executing the best choreography together. It’s so tempting to be angry at what’s happened, but Angela just feels defeated.

Angela unlaces her skates, sliding on a pair of tennis shoes from her bag and catching Gabriel’s eye. “I’ll be right back,” she tells him. “I’ve got to think this over for a minute.” He nods, and she grabs her jacket, heading outside to one of the benches in front of the complex. Pulling her phone from her jacket, she texts Genji, _what do I do? they want me to compete with Moira and I really don’t want to._

Surprisingly, she gets an answer only a minute later.

_Ask her, Angela. We’ll have our chance again next year. If I can’t be out there, I’d at least like to see you out there._

Ugh. She hates when Genji is right.

 _fine,_ she replies. _but if she gives me shit, I’m out._

Genji sends a smiley face. _I wouldn’t expect anything less._

Angela stands, pocketing her phone and heading back inside; instead of walking around the rink back to where Gabriel is waiting, she takes the stairs up to the top of the bleachers and climbs down to where Moira is sitting, legs crossed and her phone balanced on one knee. “Moira, can I talk to you about something?” She speaks quietly, as if being too loud will break an invisible barrier, but Moira hears her anyway, turning to her with a smile that’s just a bit too wide.

“Of course, dear. I was wondering where you’d gotten to. Aren’t you supposed to be practicing?”

The seats are uncomfortable, but Angela sits down next to Moira, folding one leg underneath her and leaning on the plastic arm rest between them. “Uh, about that. Genji’s hurt, so we’re out of the competition.”

Moira looks at her, the surprise on her face turning to annoyance in only a second. “So that’s it then? You’re just going to give up? You’ve been working on this for _how long_ and you’re going to throw it away when it’s _this good_?” Her whole body is facing Angela now, and both of her hands are in the air.

Angela doesn’t answer right away, because honestly, she’s not even sure what to say. When she finally opens her mouth, her shoulders sag, and she thinks, _well, it’s now or never._

“Gabriel and Genji said I should ask you to fill in since you’re, uh, familiar with the routine.” She leaves out the _because you watch me skate every day and seem insistent on pointing out my every flaw_ , but she feels like it goes without saying. “No one else is going to be able to learn it in time.”

Moira’s answering smile makes her nervous, but she can’t help but think about what Moira had said. _You’re going to throw it away when it’s this good?_

“I always knew you were a smart girl,” Moira says. “Your friends are right. I know you and I don’t always see eye to eye, but I think I have an idea.”

“What’s that?”

“Let’s run it through once, without interruptions, and if you think I’m up to the task by the time we’re finished, I’ll practice with you the rest of the day and we’ll do it. If not, I’ll be on my way, as long as you promise to come watch my routine tomorrow either way.”

Angela bites her lip, having the strange feeling she’s going to regret this, but she nods. “Alright, deal. Just one question, though.”

Moira raises an eyebrow. “Yes?”

“Did you really mean that? That it’s too good to throw away?” Part of her doesn’t even want to hear the answer, but if she’s really going to work with Moira, she needs to know.

“I meant it,” Moira says, her voice low, and she stands, offering Angela her hand. Angela takes it, and Moira pulls her to her feet. “Do you think I’d bother to sit and watch you skate every day if you weren’t the best? Now come on, darling, we don’t have a lot of time.”

Angela opens her mouth to speak, but shuts it again. Is she _hearing this right?_

Moira keeps her grip on Angela’s hand as she walks to the stairs, mumbling about having to get her skates, and that Genji should have at least given them more warning before getting hurt. Angela moves quickly behind her to match her pace, hoping that Moira won’t turn and see how wide she’s smiling. 


	10. Science Professors AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angela and Moira are science professors.

Angela’s gone through the entire afternoon by the time she realizes what’s been bugging her: she hasn’t seen Moira since breakfast. Usually the woman has interrupted her a handful of times already, but today has been...suspiciously peaceful. Her walk to class was strangely free of recorded bird calls, and there were no glitter bombs in the mailbox in front of her office. A few years ago, she would have called that normal, but now, strangely enough, it’s actually unsettling.

“Class? Has anyone seen Dr. O’Deorain today?”

Her kids look around at each other, shrugging, and back at her. “We haven’t, professor,” one of the girls at the front tells her. “Do you think she’s sick?”

Angela smiles. “I saw her this morning,” she says in a stage whisper, a hand at her mouth, “but since then it’s been quiet.” She looks around, eyes scanning the classroom and the door. “Too quiet, if you ask me.”

The class laughs, and for the next hour, Angela tries to put Moira from her mind, running through her lecture quickly and efficiently, taking questions, and then dismissing her students. Once they file out of the room, she packs up her briefcase and grabs her phone, looking to see if she has any missed calls or messages.

“Did you miss me?”

Angela’s head shoots up in surprise at the voice. “Fuck, you scared me!” she shouts across the room at Moira, who flutters her eyelashes innocently, spinning in one of the swivel chairs in the back row. “Now Angel, don’t be cranky. I just wanted to come see how my favorite professor was doing. Sorry I couldn’t come visit earlier, I got stuck in a department meeting.” She stands, stretching her arms, and walks to the front of the room; Angela crosses her arms, trying her hardest to keep the frown on her face.

“You could have at least texted me,” she mumbles as Moira infiltrates her personal space, wrapping her arms around Angela’s waist and squeezing briefly. “I didn’t want to interrupt your class,” she says, a smirk tugging at her lips as the statement leaves her mouth. Angela laughs, all attempts at appearing annoyed forgotten. “As if you don’t disturb my class every damn day, _Dr. O’Deorain_. My students even asked if you were sick, since no air horns went off in class and no birds found their way in the windows, and no strobe lights started suddenly in the middle of a lecture.”

Moira tilts her head, looking confused. “I’m afraid I have no idea what you’re on about. Did you get enough sleep last night?” She lifts Angela a few inches off the ground, spinning her around slightly, and grins. Angela takes that as an admission of guilt, but finds that she doesn’t really care anymore. Once her feet touch the ground again, she reaches up, placing one hand on either side of Moira’s face, and looks at her intently. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe you should ask my wife?”

“You mean to tell me you’re not single?” Moira lets out an exaggerated sigh, and Angela pinches one of her cheeks. “Alright, smartass, let’s go before the next class comes in.”

Moira lets go of her waist so she can grab her things. Once she has her briefcase and her sweater, she heads to the door, waiting for Moira to follow her. “Alright,” Moira concedes. “But can we continue this in your office? I don’t want your wife interrupting us.”

Angela grabs her tie and tugs her down until they’re eye to eye. “You are so lucky I can hear people outside this door.”

Moira steals a kiss, before pulling Angela’s hand from her tie and opening said door, disappearing into the hallway.

“Moira!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ps they're married.
> 
> sorry this one is so short AND so late; I had a rough day! I'm so grateful for all your wonderful comments, thank you all for reading! <3


	11. Angsty Immortals AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moira and Angela are immortal, and have lots of feelings about it.

Moira looks out at the city from the roof of an apartment building, her legs swinging back and forth over the ledge. It’s late enough that no one will notice her and call the police as long as she doesn’t draw attention to herself.

It’s peaceful up here. The wind is blowing just enough to ruffle her hair but not enough to be in inconvenience, and the biggest disturbance is the occasional honk of a car horn in the distance.

This is as good a place as any to wait, she thinks.

She takes a pocket watch from her jacket, amd presses the button on the top, watching the glass intently as the numbers come into focus. 12:53 AM. It’s been almost a hundred years since she’s had any real need to check the time, but this is one appointment she doesn’t want to be late for. The watch returns to her pocket, but she keeps her hand on the chain, although she’s not sure exactly why.

When you’re as old as she is, a few minutes shouldn’t matter. When it’s been this long, counting the hours will get her nowhere. But hasn’t stopped Moira from opening her watch again and again on this particular day, from when she woke up to now, when the city’s noises have lulled but not stopped.

The wind picks up a bit, drowning out most of the noise below her, and Moira smiles. “It’s been too long,” she says, her voice sounding far off to her own ears, but she knows it reaches its intended target when a pair of hands cover her eyes. A laugh rings out, perfectly clear.

“It has,” says the voice in her ear, deliciously close now. The hands move from her eyes down to her shoulders, and she takes that as a cue to finally turn around. When she does, she almost can’t believe Angela’s really in front of her. She looks exactly the same as she did when they last saw each other. Her hair is a bit shorter, yes, and so is her skirt, but she’s always been much better at adapting than Moira has. 

“You know, you don’t have to do that every time,” Moira says, pulling Angela down to her. She climbs into Moira’s lap and after a few minutes of adjusting, they’re curled up together, looking out at a very similar view to Moira’s original one. Different billboards, yes, and a different street, but the same city, same bustling cars, same never-ending movement.

“Don’t lie, Moira; you would be disappointed if I didn’t. It’s tradition.” She tries to fight the smile on her face, but she knows it’s pointless; even if Angela can’t see her face from this angle, she’ll know it’s there. “I suppose it is,” she concedes, resting her chin on Angela’s head. “So, what have you been up to recently?”

“If you bothered to learn how to use a phone, maybe you wouldn’t have to ask.”  
Moira rolls her eyes at that. “So I can be like them down there?” she asks, pointing down to the street.

“No, so I can hear your voice sometimes instead of waiting a hundred years until we’re in the same country again. It wouldn’t kill you to call me, maybe once a decade, you know.”

She sighs, knowing Angela is right, but also knowing she won’t push the topic further. They don’t see each other often, and they’ve learned over the centuries that it’s useless arguing when they could be making better use of their time together.

Angela’s fingers touch the inside of her wrist, tapping a steady rhythm against her skin. “Well, I believe it’s your turn to be the tour guide, this time.” 

Moira snorts. “I believe you’re mistaken.”

“Hmm,” Angela whispers in her ear, “I think I can convince you otherwise.”

They wander the streets for hours, weaving between people and cars with no particular destination in mind. Moira agrees to lead, only because she’s been here the longest; Angela, for her part, has the good grace at least to let her believe she’s won. By the time the sun rises, they’ve traveled nearly halfway across the city, and Angela stops them in front of a small café, pulling Moira inside with her. “It is 7 in the morning and I am hungry,” she says when Moira pouts, and she orders them both a coffee and a sandwich before finding them a table in the back. They eat in relative silence, with Angela watching people come and go and Moira lost in her own thoughts.

It’s easy to forget how much she likes just being with Angela; when they’re apart, Moira tries her best not to think about it at all, lest she give up entirely and drop everything to follow her across the world on her ridiculous mission.

Really, though, she asks herself, would it be so bad? Would it be so difficult for her rigid beliefs to bend, just a little bit?

Moira’s not so sure. She wonders if Angela’s ever thought the same thing.

As if sensing her uncertainty, Angela looks at her from across their tiny table, apparently done with her people-watching. “What’s next?” she asks, and Moira has the feeling that she’s asking two questions at once.

She wishes she had an answer. Instead, she stares back at Angela for a moment.

Forever is a long time, she decides.

-  
In the end, Moira and Angela end up in the park. There’s a little one near the center of the city that’s often overlooked, and so they find themselves with only a few joggers and dog walkers as company. Moira finds them a bench, and lets Angela curl up against her side, tucking her chin against Moira’s shoulder. They sit together in relative silence for a while, until Angela speaks, lifting her head just enough that her eyelashes touch Moira’s cheek.

“Moira?”

“Yes?”

“Do you think...I could stay for a while?” She sounds nervous, which is so unlike her, and yet Moira finds she’s not alone. 

“With me?” 

“Of course, with you.” Angela’s laugh is watery, and she clears her throat before she keeps going. “I’m tired of this. Maybe I won’t stay tired of it, but forever is a long time.”

Moira pulls Angela closer to her, closing her eyes and listening to the sounds of the city around them.

Yes, it is.


	12. Movie Stars AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moira is a famous movie star, and Angela is new to the business. They have some...difficulties.

_“Ok, that’s a wrap, people. Go home! Moira and Angela, stay for a minute.”_

Angela sighs. Of course. She sinks into one of the chairs on set, wondering for the sixth time today why she decided to take this job, and watches Moira pick at a piece of fuzz that’s stuck to her sweater. 

Oh, right. She was so starstruck that when she got the offer, she’d said yes almost immediately, ecstatic to be able to work with _the_ Moira O’Deorain. However, after only a day on set, she realized she’d made a huge mistake, and that Moira was worse than all of the rumors about her combined. She was an expert at picking a fight about anything and everything, seemingly just to be difficult. She paid no attention when anyone else spoke, and constantly missed her cues. Of course, to top it all off, she was just way too attractive, with her stupid red hair and her mismatched eyes and her nice face and the way she knew _just_ how to press all of Angela’s buttons.

Angela crosses her arms over her chest, trying to stop her train of thought before she gets flustered.

Annoying. Moira is way too annoying. And too tall. That’s all it is, she reasons: a case of hero worship gone bad. Never work with your idols, right?

Right.

Just as Angela’s composed herself, the director makes her way over to the table in the middle of the set, sitting across from them. “You two are killing me,” she says, looking at Angela, and then at Moira. “You are supposed to be a couple. You look like you can’t stand each other! This is a love story, not a war movie, _d’accord_?”

Angela opens her mouth to answer Amélie, but Moira beats her to it. “And what would you like us to do about it?”

Amelie’s gaze snaps to Moira, and Angela is grateful that glare isn’t directed at her. “You. You are the problem here! If you think you’re so smart, you figure it out. We film again on Friday, and I expect you to work out whatever your issue is by then.” 

With that, she gets up, heading to the door. Just as she’s about to walk outside, she stops. “Oh, one more thing,” she says, turning on her heel. “You did well, today, Angela.”

She disappears before Angela has the chance to thank her, leaving her and Moira alone. Great.  
“Well, that was fun. I’d love to stay and chat, but I’ve apparently got some soul searching to do.” Moira slides her chair out from under the table, getting up and stretching. “See you Friday,” she says, giving Angela a wave and heading for the door.

“Wait,” she calls after Moira. “Shouldn’t we do something?” Moira turns just enough to catch Angela’s eye, and for a moment, she doesn’t say anything. She just stares, her eyebrows raised and her mouth a thin line, until Angela gives up and puts her head in her hands. She closes her eyes, taking a deep breath. Why did this have to be so hard?

“Whatever. Just go, and I’ll see you Friday, and we can pretend you’re not trying to drive me insane, and we’ll just suck again.” When she still doesn’t get an answer, she assumes Moira’s already gone, and decides that maybe it’s best for Amélie to find someone else. It’s still early enough in filming that it won’t disrupt things too much, and honestly, she’d rather not wait until Friday to see if things get better. 

Angela opens her eyes, but instead of the cute little vase full of sunflowers she’d been staring at during filming, she’s looking at the side of Moira’s face. Moira’s perched on the edge of the table, her sweater folded over one arm, looking up at the ceiling. “She didn’t say this was your problem, she said it was mine. You can apparently do no wrong.”

“She said I did a good job, not that it wasn’t my problem. If we can’t work together, it’s my problem too.”

Moira frowns. “What do you suggest _we_ do, then? Have a tea party and tell each other our deepest darkest secrets?”

For some reason, out of all the things Moira could have said, that was the wrong one. Angela leans back in her chair, mouth open in a silent scream. If Moira can be ridiculous, then so can she. “I _suggest_ you pull your head out of your ass and stop acting like a child. If you have a problem with me, tell me, and we’ll deal with it. If not, I’ll quit, and you can torture the next poor sap who comes along.”

“For the record, I don’t have a problem with you,” Moira says, dropping her sweater on the table. “I know everyone told you how difficult I was before you started, so I don’t know why you’re surprised.”

“I’m not surprised, I just don’t get why you have to make everyone’s job so hard just because you feel like it.” She runs a hand through her hair, realizing that celebrity crush or no, she’s really had it. Moira’s going to listen to what she has to say, whether she likes it or not. “You come on set every day and you give everyone an attitude, even though we’re all on the same team. You think that just because you’re gorgeous and talented that you can get away with it? I’m so tired, Moira. I took this role because I wanted to _work_ with you, not fight with you.”

Angela closes her eyes again. She hears Moira shift on the table. “I don’t… want you to quit, Angela.”

“You don’t?” Angela really hopes she doesn’t sound too eager.

“I don’t. I guess I’ll try to be less of an asshole, but I’m warning you, I don’t really know how to do that.” 

When Angela looks up again, she realizes Moira is facing her now, looking right past her face. “Just, try and listen when people talk to you. Don’t spend so much time arguing.”

Moira snorts. “You make it sound so easy.”

“Maybe it would be if you tried it once and awhile,” Angela replies, and Moira only shrugs, but she can’t hide the way her lips turn up just the tiniest bit. This is probably the most she’s ever spoken to Moira, and she’s loathe to admit it, but it’s not as awful as she thought it would be. 

“I think I have an idea,” Moira says, finally, after another stretch of silence.

“What do you mean?”

“For Friday. Did you forget already? Close your eyes.” And there’s the attitude back again, Angela thinks. At least Moira seems more playful than spiteful this time.

“No, I just- wait what?”

Moira waves a hand at her dismissively. “Oh, just trust me.”

In spite of every instinct telling her it’s a terrible idea, she finds she can’t resist the look on Moira’s face, so she lets her eyes fall shut. A second goes by, and then another, and she’s about to say something when she suddenly feels a pair of lips on hers.

Wait, _what_?

She jerks away slightly, opening her eyes. “What the hell did you just do?

“I’m pretty sure I kissed you, Angela. Or did you not mean it when you said I was gorgeous?”

Angela feels her face heat up, and she tries her best to ignore the smirk she knows is plastered across Moira’s face. “Why, though?

“Well, I guess you could call it practice, since apparently we’re doing a movie together. Unless you’d rather I-”

She holds up a hand. “Shut up and do it again, or leave.”

Luckily, Angela finds out, Moira could listen just fine when it really mattered.


	13. Faerie AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moira's lost in the woods, and Angela is the faerie her mother warned her about.

Moira’s legs feel like they’re about to give out. She’s been running for ages, with no direction or destination in mind other than away from her pursuers.

She reaches the path at the edge of the forest and abruptly stops; she’s spent her whole life hearing stories about the terrible things that live in these woods, but at this point, she’d rather risk it than wait for certain death to catch up with her.

After all, they were just stories, weren’t they? 

Taking a deep breath, she crosses into the woods, stepping carefully but quickly. The only sounds she can hear are the chirping of birds and the rustling of leaves under her feet, the wind having stopped almost as soon as she’d entered the forest.

Voices suddenly call out from the winding path she’d just deserted. “Boys, over here!” someone shouts, and Moira freezes. She knows she’ll alert them if she tries to move, so she stays perfectly still, praying that no one will see her.

“She went in the woods, she did.”

“Aye, and it’ll be dark soon enough. She’s as good as dead in there, lads. No use wasting our time.”

One of them approaches the trees at the edge of the path, staring right at her, and Moira thinks for a second she’s been spotted, but suddenly, he turns away. “Nothing but the trees and the spirits,” he calls. “I won’t put a foot in there. Back home, then. Won’t have to worry about her for long.”

She holds her breath until their voices depart entirely, wondering how she managed to remain unseen but thankful all the same. She turns her back to the path, looking out at the endless forest in front of her, and makes up her mind to start walking.

After the first time she realizes she may be going in circles, she pauses, looking around her and taking in her surroundings. A large felled tree lies to her left, slowly being overtaken again by nature, covered in moss and colorful mushrooms. The rest of the trees in the area are still standing, very large and clearly very old, but one in particular grabs her attention. It has no leaves, but small garlands of flowers are draped across its branches, and as the base of the trunk is a large collection of items that, frankly, shouldn’t be there. 

Candles, a handful of smooth black pebbles, a few eggs, and a child’s doll are among the treasures piled up, and Moira tries to suppress a shiver; clearly, someone had been here to leave them, and she had no idea of knowing how long ago. It looks as though whoever placed those items there was making some sort of offering, and Moira is in no rush to figure out why or who. Instead, she decides it’s safer to stay as far away from the tree as possible.

She walks past, giving the makeshift altar a wide berth, but before she turns in the other direction, Moira stops, an idea forming. 

Her mother had always told her that the spirits of the forest weren’t good or evil, but could be vengeful, just like nature itself. She’d told Moira that she should never ask one for help, or ever take anything one of them offered, but to always be respectful. Moira had never thought much of the advice, as she’d never had any need of it, but she found that her mother’s words kept echoing in her head. 

_Fickle, things, faeries. Be careful where you tread in those woods._

Moira reaches into her pockets, wondering if she has something she can leave as an offering, but all she finds there is a bit of paper and a copper coin. She frowns. That won’t do.

Wait. Her hand flies to her neck, and she suddenly remembers. A black stone, weathered and smooth with a hole in the middle, hangs there, wrapped in cord. Her mother had given it to her, saying something about protection, but she’d never given it much thought, wearing it mostly out of habit. It wasn’t much, but she didn’t have anything else, and it would certainly be missed, if only for sentimental value.

She unties the cord, looping it around her fingers, and cautiously approaches the tree, bending down to one knee and placing the necklace near the other mismatched items, but not so close that she disturbs them. She closes her eyes for a moment, feeling a bit silly, but she pushes past it, saying a quick “thank you” before standing back up and putting some distance between herself and the altar.

Moira looks out at the forest in front of her, still unsure of which way to go but knowing she should keep moving. She picks out what could plausibly be north, and decides to head that way, this time being extra careful to keep track of her surroundings. She’d rather not discover she’s going in circles again.

The wind picks up suddenly as she begins walking, sending a chill down her spine, and she thinks she hears the tinny sound of a chiming bell. She doesn’t want to look back now, afraid of what she’ll find there, so she keeps going as if she hadn’t heard anything at all.

“Most humans don’t venture this far into the forest,” a voice calls from behind her, making Moira stop in her tracks. “What makes you so different from them?”

She takes a deep breath, but before she can think of a response, the voice continues. “You clearly believe, or you wouldn’t have left a gift.” Moira feels someone, or something, getting closer and closer to her, but whatever it is makes no sound against the leaves of the forest floor.

“Are you afraid? You don’t need to be.” Moira feels hands on her shoulders and lets herself be turned, coming face to face with someone she can’t possibly call human. Green hair, pointed ears, covered in flowers and vines - oh, and actual wings growing out of her back. She contemplates running, or pinching herself to see if she’s somehow fallen into a dream, but the faerie, _because what else can she be_ , smiles at her, and all thoughts seem to disappear from Moira’s head at once.

“You can call me Mercy,” the faerie says. “I saw you come into the forest, and I saw them chasing you.”

“Did you help me?” Moira asks, and an impish smile lights up Mercy’s face. “I did. Mostly because I wanted to get a good look at you, and it was difficult while you were running so fast.”

“Oh, well, thank you.”

Mercy’s hands are warm on her shoulders, and Moira’s not sure when it happened, but everything smells like fresh flowers. “You’re safe now,” the faerie coos, one hand sliding up to cradle Moira’s cheek. “No need to run anymore.”

Moira sighs, feeling her eyes slide shut. The more she thinks about it, the more it makes sense to her. Does she really need to run if they’ve given up on chasing her? 

“Exactly,” Mercy agrees, and for the life of her, Moira can’t figure out if she’d been speaking out loud.

“Just stay here with me until morning, and then I’ll help you find your way, if you’d like.” The faerie bats her eyelashes, stepping even closer, and Moira can’t seem to find a reason to say no.

So she nods, and feels Mercy smile against her skin.


	14. Heist AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ocean's 8 AU we all needed in which Angela is Debbie and Moira is Lou.
> 
> Enjoy, and Happy Valentine's Day!
> 
> (also, obviously there are spoilers for the movie Ocean's 8 below)

Angela takes a deep breath, enjoying the fresh air.

It’s good to finally be a free woman.

She’s been behind bars for 5 years, 8 months and 12 days, during which she’s done her best to prove how remorseful she is, how much she wishes she could take back what she’s done. How much she wants a normal life, working 9-5, paying bills, maybe getting a dog.

It’s all a lie of course, but it worked, and that’s what matters. Now, she’s out, and she can finally get to work on the job she’s been planning for the last 5 years, 8 months and 12 days, down to the tiniest detail.

First, though, she’s going to need some help.

She sends a text before getting in the cab. 

_Cemetery. 12pm_ , it reads.

She has to wait for it, but she gets an answer eventually. _I missed you too, asshole._

It's only natural that the first place she goes is her brother’s grave. Talking her plans out with him has always made everything better, and this time is no different. She lingers there a bit longer than is strictly necessary, but she’s always been a bit sentimental. When this is all over, she tells herself, she’ll come back and they can share one last drink together before she retires.

Angela leaves the mausoleum, and she can’t stop her heart from fluttering as she sees Moira’s car pull up on one of the cemetery’s dirt paths. She takes a deep breath, rolling her suitcase behind her and opening the back door of the sedan, tossing her luggage in and tossing it in before opening the passenger door. 

She sits down and closes the door behind her, glancing at Moira out of the corner of her eye as she removes her sunglasses. She looks exactly the same. Within a second, she’s out of her seat and engulfing Angela in a hug, kissing her hair.

“Hey, take it easy,” she says, waving Moira away. “I’ve been in the slammer.”

Moira raises an eyebrow, putting her hands back on the steering wheel. 

“Oh? And here I though you just changed your number.”

Angela laughs. She missed Moira too. While she’d been in jail, she’d been over the plan hundreds of times. Thousands of times, And no matter how much she changed, no matter how many scenarios she ran through, one thing was always constant.

Moira was always there with her.

“So did you get the credit line?” she asks, trying to sound casual. Moira takes a deep breath.

“Not yet.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t know what it’s for.”

Angela scoffs, and Moira looks at her with her best judgemental stare. “Don’t make that face.”

She doesn’t even have it in her to play coy. “That would be my ‘I’ve just been in jail for five years, and my partner lets me down’ face.”

“I’m not your partner.” 

_Liar_ , she wants to say. Instead, Angela tries diplomacy. “Not yet.” 

She thinks she sees the beginnings of a smile on Moira’s face, but maybe it’s just a trick of the light.

They pull up to an abandoned warehouse, fenced in with barbed wire. Moira opens the door and lets Angela step inside ahead of her. The interior of the warehouse looks like a nightclub. It’s dimly lit, lavishly furnished, and so different from the outside that Angela has to do a double take. 

“Nice place you’ve got here.”

Moira laughs. “You should try heating it.” She slides out of her coat, and Angela can’t help but watch her as she adjusts the collar of her shirt. “There’s a room for you upstairs,” she says, turning to Angela, who pretends to be suddenly very interested in the light fixtures. “Your stuff is up there too, or at least the stuff that didn’t fit me.”

“Screw you,” Angela says, already halfway up the stairs. She looks behind her, hoping whatever message she’s sending comes across.

Moira smiles and calls out after her, “I’ll be up in a minute.”

-

“So, what is it, Angela?” Moira asks, brushing the hair away from Angela’s face and pressing a kiss to her shoulder.

“Jewels.”

Moira freezes. “Jewels.” It’s not a question.

“Like, big, blingy jewels. In a vault 50 feet underground.”

She can almost hear Moira rolling her eyes. “And how are we going to get them out of the vault, dear heart?”

Here it is. Either she fucks it up now, or she doesn’t. “They’re gonna bring em to us.”

The look on Moira’s face says she’s interested. And that’s all Angela’s ever needed.


	15. Magic Shop AU, Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moira comes back to Angela's shop, and Angela takes the opportunity to flirt.

Angela slides the last book into its rightful place on the shelf and declares her work finished for the day. She smiles, standing and surveying her domain, and heads to the back to make herself a cup of tea, but not before flipping the door sign to ‘closed.’

She hears Satya’s voice float through into the kitchen from one of the alcoves of the shop; she’s finishing up a tarot reading that seems to have gone a bit late. Lena’s gone home already, so other than Satya and her client, no one else is still in the shop.

Once her water boils, she pours it into a mug and dips in one of her handmade tea bags, deciding she needs some chamomile and rose to relax after the week she’s had. As an afterthought, she grabs another mug and fills it as well. She has a feeling she’s going to have some company this evening.

She loses track of time as she sips her tea, eyes closed and fingers wrapped loosely around her mug. It’s not until Satya’s voice calls to her, much closer this time, that she opens her eyes and looks around. Satya is standing at the door to the kitchen with her sweater on and her bag on one shoulder, giving Angela a small smile.

“I am going to head home, Angela,” she says, looking down at the table and both mugs of tea. “Are you expecting someone?”

Angela nods. “In a few minutes yes, so you can leave the door unlocked. Have a good night, Satya. Text me when you get home, please.”

“Of course. Good night.” Satya turns around, disappearing form the doorway, and a minute later the bell above the door rings, signaling her departure. 

Angela looks down at the full mug of tea, idly wondering if she should pour a new cup, when the bell rings again. She hears a small “hello?” from the shop’s entryway, and she calls out, “Moira, I’m in the kitchen. Do me a favor and lock the door behind you, please.”

A few seconds later her visitor appears, carrying a paper bag, which she sets down on the counter. “I made tea,” Angela says, gesturing to the seat across from her.

Moira looks surprised. “You knew I was coming?”

“Of course I did,” Angela replies. “Just not exactly when. It might be a bit cold.” 

Moira sits, taking a sip of the tea. “It’s still pretty warm. Thank you.” She tilts her chin over to the counter, and puts the mug down again so she can speak. “I brought you cake.”

“Ooh, what kind? You didn’t have to do that Moira.” At first, Moira only shrugs, her expression very far away, but after a moment she seems to come back. “It’s chocolate with earl grey icing and raspberry compote. I’ve been experimenting a little.”

She’s not sure what she was expecting Moira to say, but it certainly wasn’t that. “You _made_ it? That’s amazing!”

“It was nothing,” Moira says, a bit sheepishly. “I just wanted to stop by and thank you again, for helping me.”

Angela looks at Moira over the edge of her mug, just barely managing to hide her smile. “And I will tell you again, you don’t have to thank me. I just hope one day you’ll let me tell you about it.” Moira chuckles, rolling her eyes, but she doesn’t look half as annoyed as she did when they’d first met. 

“I might… not be totally opposed,” Moira admits. Angela puts the mug down, her grin becoming a bit more mischievous. “Moira, don’t tease.” 

Moira’s face goes redder than her hair, and it takes every fiber of Angela’s self control not to fuss over her. Instead, she gets up, putting her mug in the sink and grabbing some plates from the cabinet and letting Moira calm down.

“Would you like some cake, then?” 

-

Moira winces and rubs her arm, clearly remembering the unpleasantness of the previous week. “Ugh, maybe I shouldn’t have asked.” Angela pats Moira’s knee. “You know, I’m pretty impressed you escaped Gabriel giving you the gory details.”

“I just don’t understand how any of this works,” Moira says. “And don’t tell him, but I’ve been avoiding him for that exact reason.”

Angela giggles. “You don’t have to know how it works for it to work, Moira. I don’t understand genetics, but I know it’s real.” She knows she’s won that battle when Moira sighs and crosses her arms. She keeps going though; her stubborn streak is a mile wide, Angela has learned, and it’s, strangely enough, one of the most endearing things about her.

“But it makes no sense. You just say you want to curse someone and suddenly their arm is purple and they’re bleeding from their eyes. You have to realize how ridiculous that sounds.”

“You are lucky you’re cute, you know that right?” 

They’ve migrated to Angela’s living room, and Moira takes the opportunity to curl herself around one of the pillows on the couch, groaning in exasperation. Angela takes the last bite of her cake, and puts the plate down on the coffee table.

“Look, this is the best way to explain it, Moira. Everything is alive. Everything lives, and moves, in it’s own way. Our creations and intentions have just as much power as we do; that’s what magic is. A curse is made of the energy of a person who wants to hurt you; if you destroy it, you’ll hurt that person back. Nothing we do is without consequences, and desire is both a feeling and an action.”

Moira pulls herself away from the pillow, a blush still staining her cheeks. “So you’re saying if you want something bad enough, you can make it real? That sounds terrifying.” She turns toward Angela slightly, and she looks wary, but not afraid. “Also like a lot of responsibility.”

Angela realizes their shoulders are touching. “Both. But it’s not all bad. Even if people drag their cursed friends to my shop and interrupt my movie night.”

Moira throws a pillow right at Angela’s head, but somehow, it misses entirely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and there's that "fic title inside dialogue" moment...
> 
> Thank you so much for sticking with me so far! We've officially passed the halfway point, and I can't believe it! Hopefully you all enjoy the second half of the month as much as the first :)


	16. Office AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moira and Angela work together. Angela gets a new job, and she's not sure why she's so upset about it.

They’ve been working at the same company for the past five years, and eight hours a day, five days a week is a lot of time to get to know someone. So Angela thinks it’s safe to say she knows Moira O’Deorain pretty well. She knows how Moira takes her coffee, her preferred lunch orders, and at when exact temperature she’ll run to the back to get her sweater. They hang out after work, go on road trips into the city on weekends, and one of Angela’s favorite sounds is the click of Moira’s heeled boots approaching her desk.

That’s what’s making this thing so confusing.

Last Tuesday, she’d called out of work for an interview. Moira was the only one who knew about it, and she’d woken up to a good luck text that had probably made her a bit more giddy that it should have. During the interview, she’d hardly been nervous, and they’d offered her the job on the spot.

She’d said yes, and called Moira from her car. While waiting for her to pick up, Angela had realized that leaving her current job meant not working with Moira anymore, and suddenly her situation seemed much less fabulous than it did a minute before.

When she’d finally heard Moira’s voice, she buried the thought, telling Moira her news. “I got the job. I start in two weeks.”

“Yes! I knew you’d get it. They’d have to be stupid not to hire you, Angela.”

It’s validating that Moira believes in her so unconditionally, and that she’s been rooting for Angela nonstop for the past five years. And it’s not as if they’ll never see each other again. But, if she’s being totally honest, she’s a bit upset that Moira doesn’t fight harder for her to stay.

“Thanks, Mor,” is all she actually says, shoving her uncertainty to the back of her mind to unpack later. “Want to get coffee after you’re done?”

“I’ll meet you there.”

Angela hangs up, gripping her phone just a little too tightly. This is what she wants, she tells herself. 

It’ll be fine.

Two weeks later, Angela wakes up to the sound of her alarm and shoots straight up in bed. She gets dressed and grabs her purse, unplugging her phone from its charger and looking at the notification that’s lighting up her screen.

_Good luck today. Don’t get into too much trouble._

She smiles so hard that her face starts to hurt.

_Hope the place doesn’t explode without me_ , she answers. Almost immediately, she gets a text back with the boom emoji. _Don’t give me any ideas, Miss Ziegler._

Her first day at her new job goes by in a flash, between everyone introducing themselves, showing her around, and acquainting her with the ins and outs of the office. By the time she’s getting ready to leave, she checks her phone and finds a notification from Moira. There’s a picture of the coffee place they usually go to after work, a coffee emoji, and a question mark.

Angela giggles as she gets in the car, feeling her heart beating just a little faster than normal. She answers back with a thumbs up and a smiley face, before throwing her phone on the passenger seat and putting her keys in the ignition.

Moira is already sitting at a table near the back when Angela walks in the door, sipping her coffee while she watches a video on her phone. “I ordered you a cappuccino,” she says without looking up, and Angela rolls her eyes fondly, heading to the counter where one of the baristas has just put down a cup. “Angela!” They call out, and she raises her hand, taking the cup and heading back to Moira.

“So what were you watching that was so important?” she asks, knowing full well it was probably a video of some animal playing soccer.

“Some construction guys found a baby deer and it wouldn’t let them put it down.” Moira wipes a tear from her eye. “It was so fucking cute.” Angela sits down, shrugging off her coat and her sweater, and blows on her cappuccino, taking a small sip. She looks across the table at Moira, who’s leaning her chin on one hand and looking back at her. “So?”

Angela raises an eyebrow. “So what?”

“How’d it go? Don’t keep me in suspense, Zeigler.” 

Oh, right. “It was good, actually. Only the first day, so who knows, but it was nice.”

“That’s it? No _I couldn’t function because you weren’t there to put an alarm clock in the ceiling tiles above Genji’s desk_? And here I thought you missed me.” She sighs, sticking out her lower lip and doing her best to look pitiful. Angela throws her napkin across the table, smirking as it hits Moira right between the eyes.

“Quit it,” she says. “You’re the one who told me to take that interview, you know. I didn’t see you asking me to stay.” She looks away, taking a sip of her coffee to cover her frown. Moira is quiet for a moment, and Angela knows she’s being watched, but she doesn’t want to be the first one to speak.

“Angela.” She feels a tap on her hand. “Look at me.” Angela sighs, looking at Moira, getting the feeling she’s about to hear something she doesn’t like. “I told you to take that job because you deserve something better, not because I wanted you to go.”

Angela bites her lip. “I know. I’m sorry, I’m just going to miss seeing you at work every day. I don’t want things to be different.”

Moira smiles and puts a hand on Angela’s, pushing it down until the coffee cup hits the table. “It’s going to be okay, Angela,” she says. “We can still do the same things we do now; there’s just one more thing I can do now that we’re not working together.”

“Wait, what?” Angela lets go of her cup, fighting to keep the frown on her face. As always, it’s hard not to smile with Moira’s eyes on her.

“I can ask you out.” This time, it’s Moira’s turn to look away, although her hand doesn’t leave Angela’s. 

Angela opens her mouth, and then shuts it again. Her brain feels stuffy, like it’s filled with static. Moira tries to take her hand away, but Angela grabs it.

“Hang on, why couldn’t you do that before?” she blurts out, not realizing what she’s said until it’s already left her mouth.

“Angela, we worked together. I didn’t want to make it weird if you said no.”

“Who says I’m saying no?” 

Moira glances back at her, blinking a few times. “You’re not?” 

Maybe things wouldn’t be the same after all. Maybe they’d be better.


	17. Call It a Coffee Shop AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moira runs a snooty coffee shop, and Angela is her favorite permanently exhausted customer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a short one today, but I hope you enjoy!

Moira takes a deep breath, inhaling the aroma of coffee. More specifically, her favorite roast, at her favorite time of day. She’s in the habit of making herself a cup right when she gets in the door, before any lights or other machines get turned on. Just the french press, and the light of her phone as she reads the morning news.

It’s been this way for the last 5 years, since Moira quit her job in biochemistry and decided to open a coffee shop, of all things. And yet, she’s happier now than in all her years of misery at the hands of scientific discovery.

She’s glad to be brewing specialty coffee, to be honest. 

On this current morning, the clock reads 4:32 AM. It’s almost peaceful; the noises from outside are minimal, and most importantly, there are no people yet. Amélie and Olivia aren’t due in until 7, and before then, she only gets a handful of customers, anyways.

Moira scrolls through some articles and sips her coffee.

This is the life, she thinks.

-

The bell on the door rings at 6:00 AM on the dot, and a blonde woman walks in with a briefcase and a stack of papers. She’s talking on the phone, which is wedged between her shoulder and her cheek. “I told you, Jack, this is my one day off. Can I please just study in peace? I’ll see you tomorrow.”

The woman hangs up, approaching the counter with a tired smile. “Good morning, Moira,” she says. “Better make it a double today.”

“Of course, dear,” Moira replies, turning and getting started on grinding some beans. “How are you feeling today?”

“Ugh, awful. My boards are tomorrow and I feel like I haven’t slept in ages. What have you concocted this time?” Angela puts her papers down on one of the tables; her usual one at the back, and drops her briefcase on the chair. Once her coat is off, she returns to the counter, where Moira has just placed a large mug. She leans on the marble surface, waiting patiently until Moira fills the mug with coffee.

“New Orleans. I think you’ll like it.” Moira pours the coffee into the mug, filling it to the top and watching as Angela perks up a little. “And try to actually take the time to taste it, Angela.”

Angela nods, holding out her hands.

One of Moira’s favorite things about Angela is that she has absolutely no taste in coffee. She’ll drink anything that has caffeine in it, and that’s pretty much the only standard she has. It’s partly because she’s chronically exhausted from her hospital residency and studying for her licensing exam, and partly because she’s never had anything better than college dorm coffee pot sludge to make a comparison to. She’s like a blank canvas, and Moira is determined to get her accustomed to good coffee if it kills her. 

It’s taken the better part of a year, but she can tell Angela’s getting more discerning with her coffee selection. On good days, she even asks about the notes in her coffee, instead of shrugging and knocking it back without even tasting it.

Most importantly, Angela drinks her coffee black.

A woman after Moira’s own heart.

Angela smells the coffee she’s been given, shutting her eyes with a gleeful smile, and takes a sip. Another sip. 

“Oh my god, Moira. Please marry me and make me this every day,” she groans, gripping the cup with both hands.

Moira rolls her eyes, ignoring the way her heart speeds up just slightly at Angela’s words, and turns back to her french press. 

“I’ll make you another cup, go sit down.”

She pretends she doesn’t see the little dance Angela does as she heads back to her usual seat.


	18. Fashion Designers AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angela and Moira are the head designers of "warring" fashion houses.

Angela’s not sure how it started, whatever this...thing... was between them. A decade ago, if anyone had asked how she felt about Moira, she would have said she was too nasty for her own good. Moira, at the very least, would have called her ‘reductive and lacking in imagination.’

Yet, here they are, sat at the kitchen table of Moira’s apartment, a sketchbook between them, being traded back and forth.

“I think tulle would be best,” Moira mumbles, and Angela hums in agreement, sliding the book back over to the other end of the table. 

“Do you have any spare fabric to drape?” she asks Moira, who snorts, standing and gesturing for Angela to follow her.

“Of course I do. Come on.”

-  
 _March_

“The new fall collection from Talon will be showing at Paris Fashion week, and everyone is curious to see what Moira O’Deorain has come up with this year.”

“Yes, her designs seem to be getting more and more avant-garde, don’t they? Although, I must admit, I’m even more interested in Angela Zeigler’s collection.”

“Well, those two are always trying to one-up each other. At the very least, it’s going to be an interesting show.”

“Without a doubt. As I’m sure you all remember, last year Talon set everyone in the fashion world abuzz when Moira O’Deorain released an entire lookbook mirroring Valkyrie’s spring collection, not even a week after it came out. No one knew if it was a retaliation, or a teaser for a joint collection, but neither of the fashion houses could be reached for commentary.”

“The question on all our minds is, what will these warring designers do now with Paris as their battlegrounds? The only thing that’s certain is that everyone is watching.”

 

-

_The previous spring_

Angela gives the last one of her models a big hug as she steps off the runway. “You were amazing, Hana,” she says, and the girl beams as they walk back to the dressing rooms. She can still hear the clapping from all the way back here, but her attention is quickly eclipsed by her makeshift desk, on which a gigantic bouquet of flowers has been left.

The card is blank except for the letter M.

Angela takes the flowers home with her and tucks the card up at the top of her office bulletin board. Maybe it’s silly, but Angela can’t help feeling it’s the start of something new.

A week later, she gets a text from Moira, asking her to meet. Angela agrees, because of course she does. Even if the fashion world is determined to pit them against each other, Angela doesn’t want to fight with this woman for a crown that doesn’t exist.

So she walks into the Talon office in her best suit, hoping that Moira feels the same, and that she’s not making a terrible mistake.

She waits for twenty minutes and then finally, an intern lets her into Moira’s office. “Angela,” Moira says, her face lit up with that ever-present smirk. “Thank you for coming on such short notice.”

“Of course, Moira. Is everything all right?”

“Oh, everything’s fine dear, but I wanted to do this in person.” She steeples her fingers under her chin. “Did you get the flowers?”

“I did. Thank you, they were beautiful.” 

“Your collection was incredible, Angela. I haven’t seen anything like it in years.”

Angela, for once, is speechless. She stares at Moira, her mouth wide open. Moira, to her credit, doesn’t laugh, and even that smirk seems to have disappeared. “I’m serious. You’ve changed the game,”

Once she manages to find her voice, Angela replies. “I wasn’t aware there was a game.” 

“Oh come on, Angela. This whole thing is a game. We spend months, years, creating designs only a few people are ever going to wear, and once it hits the runway, they talk about it, and they forget about it all eventually. They’re more concerned with our made-up rivalry than they really are about the clothes.”

Angela rolls her eyes, sighing. “I know. It’s so tiring.” 

Moira stands, walking around the desk and sitting on the arm of Angela’s chair. “What if I told you I had an idea that would change things? I want to make a collection inspired by yours, and run it at Talon’s show.”

“Moira, that’s in five days.”

Moira raises one delicate eyebrow. “What, you think I can’t do it?”

Angela takes a deep breath, wondering exactly what she’s walking into. “Just save me a seat.”

“Right at the front, darling.”

-

Every single design complements one of hers perfectly. Her theme had been celestial bodies, with a focus on the sun, and Moira’s done the same. Her focus, though, was the moon, silver to Angela’s gold.

It’s one of the most beautiful things Angela’s ever seen. The garments themselves are more to Moira’s personal taste: suits, angular dresses, and blazers instead of Angela’s flowing gowns and sheer fabrics, but somehow, it feels like she’s watching an exact mirror of her own show.

She loves it. And from the talking happening around her, the audience does too.

Angela stands from her seat at the front row, heading backstage, and after she flashes her pass, security lets her through.

Moira is sitting at one of the dressing tables, one hand clutching the card Angela had sent with a vase full of white roses.

“That was incredibly risky, you do realize,” she says, and when Moira turns around, the smile on her face is breathtaking. Angela’s not sure she’s ever seen Moira smile so genuinely.

“But it worked, didn’t it?”

Two weeks later, a card makes its way to Angela’s desk. No return address and no signature, and yet Angela instantly knows who it’s from.

_Come make a collection with me_ , it says. 

-

Angela lifts her head slightly, looking over toward Moira, who’s taking a sip of her margarita and staring at her phone. 

“They really need to stop with all of this nonsense. Is it really such a surprise that we’re collaborating? I, for one, thought it was inevitable.” She passes the phone to Angela, who plays the video and shakes her head. 

“There’s nothing we can do about the gossip, Moira. And what do you mean, inevitable?”

Moira shrugs, putting her drink down and turning her whole body towards Angela. “I mean, you’re the only other designer that ever puts out anything worth looking at. Every time you release a collection, I always get inspired to create something. So why not work together for once?”

“You mean that?” Angela asks, feeling her face heat up. Moira smiles that awful genuine smile that seems to be a new fixture, and stands, looking out at the water.

“Of course I do. Now let’s go inside and get to work, hmm?”

She holds out her hand.

Angela takes it.


	19. Zookeeper AU, Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moira gets roped into fluffy animal shenanigans with her girlfriend, and pretends she regrets it.

“Thank you for coming, everyone. You can come see Penelope and all the other snakes every day in the reptile house’s main room.”

Moira gets one last round of applause, and then her audience begins to file out. Once the room is empty, she gives Penelope a little head rub, letting the boa curl around her shoulders, and heads through one of the back doors to the snake enclosures. Penelope doesn’t seem to want to move, so she takes her time, checking up on all the snakes in the room as she walks. 

When she turns the corner, she realizes Angela has already beaten her there. She’s sitting on one of the benches, her legs crossed and her chin leaning against one hand. There’s a bag sitting at her feet.

“Did I run late?” Moira asks, and Angela perks up, turning in her direction. “No, you were right on time. I figured you’d be coming this way with Penelope, so I decided to meet you here. I brought lunch.” She reaches out to stroke Penelope, and then lays a hand on Moira’s arm. “I see you got some rave reviews from the audience today. They called you the badass snake lady.” She tries to hide her giggle behind her other hand, but Moira catches it, although her glare holds no malice behind it.

After Penelope is safely back in her enclosure, Moira turns back to Angela. “Well, I guess that’s better than some of the other things I’ve been called. Come on, let’s wash our hands and eat.”

Angela nods, letting Moira pull her to her feet. “Can we eat in my office? I’ve got a surprise to show you after.”

Moira’s intrigued, but she doesn’t bother asking; Angela is always very serious about surprises. Instead, she shrugs, trying to appear disinterested. “Alright. Let’s go then, we’ve only got an hour.” She holds out her hand and Angela takes it, humming softly in agreement.

“Yes, let’s.”

When they reach Angela’s office, things are a bit… out of order. And that’s putting it nicely. Books are strewn across her desk, and a ball of sheets is on the floor, along with a shoe and a stuffed flamingo. Normally, Angela’s office is immaculate, and seeing it like this makes Moira immediately uneasy. Angela puts up her hand as if sensing her alarm, and smiles, wrinkling her nose.

“Ignore the mess. It has to do with the surprise.” She places a finger to her mouth and purses her lips. “Pay no attention to the stuffed flamingo and eat the delicious lunch I made for you.”

Moira is about to mention the fact that their lunch is clearly from the Italian restaurant across from the Zoo, but she can’t help but laugh at Angela’s expression, and soon she forgets all about it. Angela’s gotten herself pasta and meatballs, and a panini for Moira, but she steals half of Moira’s sandwich, and Moira ends up with the plate of spaghetti by the time they’re finished eating. Angela reaches out and takes Moira’s hand after she’s put her silverware down; her smile has morphed into a sly smirk, and Moira suddenly remembers why they’re here, and that Angela’s office is a disaster, and that she’s apparently plotting something.

“Are you ready, liebling?” Angela asks, her fingers curling around Moira’s. When she gets an affirmative nod, she lets go, clapping her hands together. “Okay. Close your eyes.”

“Angela.”

Angela sticks out her lower lip. “Close them. We don’t have all day, like you said.”

Moira concedes, closing her eyes and listening as Angela stands, opening the door and going into the hallway and call for Brigitte, her assistant. “Brigitte, we’re ready!” she shouts, and a few seconds later Moira hears more footsteps. “I can’t believe they’re-”

Angela cuts Brigitte off with a “shh!” and clears her throat. “Okay, Moira, hold out your hands.”

She does as she’s told, and suddenly, both her hands are filled with fluff. A lot of fluff. Moving fluff?

“Okay, open them!” Angela squeals, giggling uncontrollably, and Moira opens her eyes. She’s not sure what she was expecting, but two baby tigers certainly wasn’t it. They’re squirming in her grip, and Moira adjusts slightly so their weight is spread evenly in her arms. One crawls up her chest, slinging a paw over her shoulder, and the other puts her hand in its mouth.

She looks over at Angela, who has her hands over her mouth, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “How did you end up with two tigers?”

“I’m fostering them. They were rejected by their mother so they were sent here to the program! Aren’t they cute?”

Moira looks down at the cub who’s currently made a chew toy of her wrist. “Well, now I see why your office looks like this.” Angela nods, rolling her eyes fondly as she takes hold of the tiger trying to make its escape by jumping from Moira’s shoulder. 

“Now, that’s a bit too high of a jump, even for you, Schatz,” she says, laughing. Moira watches her scratch behind the cub’s ears. “They are very cute, Ang.”

Angela beams. “I wanted you to meet them first, before we made any sort of announcement. For the first few weeks, I’ll have to take them home for the night, and then we can start introducing them to the rest of the staff. It might be a little rough, and I was wondering…” she trails, off, watching the cub in Moira’s arm yawn, its little eyes drooping shut.

Moira looks at Angela, knowing exactly where she’s going with this. “You know I’d be happy to help you,” she says, getting closer so Angela can lean her cheek on Moira’s unoccupied arm. “But are you sure I’m the most qualified person for that? I take care of snakes, not big cats.” Angela snorts, mumbling something against Moira’s lab coat.

“What was that, Angela? Didn’t quite hear you.” 

She feels Angela smile and put a hand on Moira’s shoulder, pushing down just enough to whisper in her ear. “You don’t need to be an expert, Mor, I just need an extra pair of hands. And don’t tell my staff, but I’d rather you staying over my house than any of them.” She kisses Moira’s cheek. “But if you’d rather I ask Brigitte, I’m sure she’d be okay with it.”

Moira shakes her head. “No, I um, I’d be happy to help.” It’s got absolutely nothing to do with spending time with Angela; her girlfriend needs help, and would be _rude_ for Moira to refuse when she’s asking so nicely.

“Oh, good! It’ll be fun, you’ll see. You want to meet me at my place after work? I should at least be able to get them home without a problem.”

“Sounds good,” Moira replies, wondering what she’s gotten herself into as the cub in her arms wakes up and resumes chewing on her wrist.

She’s pretty sure she doesn’t mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was planning on doing a totally different prompt today, but my favorite zookeeper girlfriends demanded to be written. Hope you like it!


	20. Bodyguard AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moira's a scientist who suddenly has a price on her head, and Angela's supposed to be keeping her alive.

Moira yanks her hand forward half heartedly. Predictably, the handcuffs don’t budge. She sighs. Something explodes above her head, and dust comes down from the ceiling, settling across her hair and shoulders. Great. She’s handcuffed to a radiator, a few of her ribs are definitely broken, and now, to top it all off, she’s dirty.

This is the last time she’ll ever try to solve the world’s problems, Moira tells herself. Nope, no more science for her. She’s going to go back to Dublin, retire, and adopt a few rescue dogs. In fact, she never wants to hear the word “genome” again.

The door busts open and Moira jumps slightly, but once she sees Angela, she relaxes. Only slightly, since there’s still a gun pointed at her head, but at least Angela won’t get paid if she accidentally kills her.

“Oh, there you are, Moira,” Angela exclaims, lowering her weapon and running over to the window. She looks at Moira’s hand, and back up at her face. “Hold your arm out for me, would you? We don’t have much time.”

If someone had asked Moira a week ago where she’d be today, ‘getting shot out of handcuffs by a gorgeous blonde woman’ would at the absolute bottom of the list. In fact, it probably wouldn’t even make the list, because last week, no one was trying to kill her. No one had decided that her scientific discoveries would be a perfect way to murder people without any type of usable evidence, and she certainly hadn’t been kidnapped, and subsequently saved by the bodyguard she’d _insisted_ she didn’t need.

Well, she thinks, it’s been an eventful week, why not add one more thing to her list? She holds her arm out and closes her eyes, and only a second later her ears are ringing from the sound of the gunshot and her hand is suddenly free. Or, at least mostly free, but half a set of handcuffs is better than the alternative.

“Are you alright?” Angela holds out her free hand for Moira, who takes it and stands, albeit shakily. Moira shrugs, taking a deep breath to steady herself. “Can we please just get out of here, Angela?”

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” Angela answers. “Follow me.”

Once, they’re out of the building, Angela drags her down an alleyway, and Moira grimaces when her arm touches her ribs. She must hear the sharp intake of her breath, because Angela stops and looks back at her, but Moira waves her off. “I’ll worry about it when there’s no one in the vicinity trying to kill me.” 

Luckily, Angela doesn’t push, just grabs Moira’s hand and pulls her out of the alley and through a crowd of people. Moira keeps her head down and her eyes focused on Angela, careful not to brush up against anyone. She hopes no one’s still following them, but she refuses to even think about turning to look. Angela’s hand is squeezing hers way too tightly, and surprisingly, Moira is thankful for the distraction; the little bit of discomfort seems to lessen the sharp pain she feels every time she breathes too deeply.

Angela leads them into a Bahnhof station, and they disappear onto one of the trains, melding in seamlessly with a crowd of commuters. “Where are we going?” she whispers to Angela, who’s let go of her arm and gotten a grip on her shirt, pulling apart the bottom buttons and placing a hand underneath, flat against her ribs. Moira turns bright red, but doesn’t protest, if only because she doesn’t want to draw any more attention to herself.

“Gabriel’s going to meet us outside the city.” She runs her fingers down Moira’s ribs, ignoring the way Moira’s face scrunches up in pain. “It feels like only a few are broken. Your breathing sounds alright, so I’m not worried about anything being punctured, but try to stand up straight. We’re going to take this line all the way and transfer.”

Moira nods, because frankly, she’s not interested in talking anymore. Angela removes her hand from Moira’s shirt, and thankfully has the decency to fix the buttons.

“Just try to hang in there,” Angela murmurs as she loops the fabric over the last button, and Moira barely hears it over the low chatter on the train.

But she does hear it. She steps closer to Angela, just a few inches.

They get off at the last stop, and switch to another train, where Angela finds them both a seat in the quiet car. The second she sits down, Moira feels a wave of exhaustion overtake her. 

“Are we ok? She asks. Angela brushes some of the dust out of her hair. 

“We’re ok. You can sleep for a little while. We’ve got another hour or so.”

She leans against Angela’s shoulder. Angela lets her.

“Wake up, Moira. Time to get off the train.” Moira remembers Angela helping her up, walking down the stairs of the train station, and promptly collapsing into the back seat of a car. She wakes up for only a moment, looking up to see Angela above her, a worried expression on her face. Then, everything goes black.

The next time she regains consciousness, it’s to the sound of beeping and rustling fabric. Her eyes fly open and her hands fly to her face, but someone pulls them away, places them back down at her sides. She blinks a few times, and Angela comes into focus again.  
“Oh, good, I’m still alive,” she says, matter-of-factly.” Angela has the nerve to laugh.

“Yes, congratulations, Doctor O’Deorain, it seems the worst is over. Oh, I almost forgot. I’ve brought you a book to read while you recover.” She disappears for a moment, returning with said book, and hands it to Moira - a heavy, hardcover thing. _The Human Genome._

Moira lets the book drop as soon as she reads the title. She frowns, looking at Angela, who seems more amused than she ought to be, all things considered.

“Well, that wasn’t very nice,” Angela chides, but she’s still smiling. She sits back down in the chair by the bed, curling her legs underneath her. They’re both quiet for a while, listening to the beeping of the machines and the bustling in the hallway outside.

Angela closes her eyes, her head dropping slightly. Within a few minutes, she’s asleep. Moira watches her, and wonders what she thinks about dogs.

She’ll have to ask.


	21. Wonderland AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angela is a botanist who, in hindsight, shouldn't have been walking in the forest alone. Moira's smile is a little too wide to be normal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to see a production based on Alice In wonderland, and I had mischievous Moira in my head. Enjoy!

Angela closes her field journal, standing up and packing away the last of the plant samples she’s collected. Hopefully, with these, her team can finally complete the ecological survey and head back to civilization. It’s been a long three months, and honestly, she’s ready for running water and electricity again. She hasn’t straightened her hair in 86 days, and she’s starting to forget what indoor plumbing is like.

She starts walking back to the greenhouse, hoping no one is around when she gets back so she can take a nap without feeling guilty. As she steps over a fallen log, she hears a cracking sound, and hear head snaps in the direction of the noise. 

Nothing.

It’s really been too long since she’s had a good night’s sleep.

Angela keeps walking, looking around every few steps, thinking she must have startled an animal grazing on the fallen leaves. Maybe a deer. When she doesn’t see or hear anything else, she waves it off as her overactive imagination. Luckily, it’s not totally dark yet, and there are no large predators in the area. She has nothing to worry about, she tells herself. Camp isn’t very far at all, now.

It’s a shame she’s so tired. She finds herself yawning once, then again. She rubs her eyes and tries to blink away her weariness.

She hears another noise to her right, and when she looks, she sees a small white rabbit, sitting on a tree stump. It’s clearly not a wild rabbit, and she wonders where on earth it could have come from. It sniffs the air as she approaches it, backing away slightly, but she holds out her hand. “I’m not going to hurt you, Leibchen. How did you get out here? The woods is no place for a bunny like you.” The rabbit lets Angela touch its fur, but when she tries to pick it up, it jumps away from her, hopping off the stump and off into the woods.

“No, wait!” she calls after it, although she knows rationally that the rabbit can’t understand her. She also knows that a domestic rabbit won’t last long in an environment like this, and she feels her heart constrict at the thought of anything happening to the little thing. Laying her field equipment on the stump, she follows the rabbit, walking briskly through the trees in pursuit.

It doesn’t take her long to lose sight of the rabbit, and she frowns, scanning the ground for any sign of the creature. Strangely, she doesn’t feel tired anymore, and the sky, if anything, seems to have gotten lighter. The leaves on the ground glow slightly under the sun, and Angela picks one of them up, studying it. In her hands, it just looks like an ordinary leaf.

“Are you looking for someone?” a voice calls to her, and Angela jumps, a hand flying to her chest. She looks around her in every direction, but doesn’t see anyone else. She must be imagining things, this time. There’s no one around for miles except the rest of her team, and they wouldn’t have scared her like that.

“Up here, darling.” the voice speaks up again, and Angela looks above her head, where, on one of the branches of a large tree, sits a woman.

“Who are you?” Angela asks, voice a bit more accusatory than she’d like, but she can’t help being on edge. The woman doesn’t seem to mind though, only smiling in return, her grin almost feline.

“I could ask you the same thing. Not many people travel this far into the queen’s territory.” The woman leans back over the tree branch, watching Angela from upside-down. “If you must know, my name is Moira. I can see everything around here, and I’ve been watching you.”

Angela shakes her head, convinced she’ll look back and the tree will be empty. Unfortunately, she has no such luck; Moira swings precariously from the branch, until she lets go entirely, falling to the forest floor.

She lands on her feet.

“You know,” Moira purrs, her finger tucking under Angela’s chin, “it’s terrible manners to not introduce yourself. Not to mention, you never answered my question.”

Angela blinks, wondering when Moira had gotten so close to her. “I’m Angela,” she says, slowly moving backwards. “I was following a white rabbit that was lost in the woods.”

That unsettling, catlike grin lights up Moira’s face again. She copies Angela’s movements, moving forward as she steps back, the fingers on her chin moving to her throat. “Oh, him? I don’t think he’s the one that’s lost, _Angela_.” 

“He’s a domestic rabbit! Of course he’s lost. He’ll die out here if I don’t take him back with me.”

Moira laughs, her smile getting wider the more confused Angela gets, until it seems like it’s taken over her face entirely. “Oh, I don’t think he’ll like that very much. From what I heard, he’s already running late. But if you’re so intent on finding him, I suppose it couldn’t hurt to… point you in the right direction.”

Angela huffs. “What are you talking about?” A part of her is still convinced she’s delusional, and that this infuriating woman in the middle of the forest is just a figment of her imagination, but she definitely feels real. Sounds real. Smells real, like dirt and earth and someone who’d been sleeping in a tree. 

“Now, now, dear, we don’t have time for questions. He’s probably halfway to the palace by now. Do you want help, or not?” She doesn’t even wait for Angela to answer, taking her hand and pulling her along through the forest. Angela almost has to jog to keep up with her.

“What’s going on here? What do you mean, palace?” she yells as she struggles to match Moira’s pace. She doesn’t recognize this part of the forest, and somehow, bizarrely, the sky just keeps getting lighter and lighter. “You’re mad!”

Moira suddenly stops, and Angela nearly crashes into her back. She turns around, and Angela can’t help but take a deep, shaky breath at the sight of her face, the grin, if possible, even larger than before, showing her gums and a set of curiously pointed teeth. 

“Oh, most everyone’s mad here.”


	22. Victorian AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prequel to day 5's Ghost AU, set in some nebulous, historically inaccurate Victorian-like time period. I'm sorry in advance.

Angela opens the letter, stifling a cough. She smiles at Moira’s handwriting, elegant and loopy, and touches the paper lightly with her fingers. 

_I miss you, my love_ , the letter reads. _I will be back soon, and we will be together again._

Angela turns the gold ring on her finger. On the inside, it’s engraved with both of their names, and the year. She hasn’t taken it off since Moira gave it to her; not until now. She slides it off her finger, turning it and reading the inscription, before placing it in a velvet pouch, along with a lock of her hair. She places the pouch in a box, along with every single letter Moira has ever sent her.

She wishes she could take them with her, wherever she’s going.

-

Angela can’t handle all the people in the room. The women are whispering about her behind their hands, and the men are staring at her, or asking her to dance. Her engagement has been broken for only a week, and already men are asking for her hand, telling her that fiancé had been a fool to run off with another woman, as if she doesn’t know that. As if the wound isn’t fresh enough, they have to talk about it every moment of every day.

She walks out to the balcony, shutting the door behind her, finally finding some relief from the incessant noise. She rubs at her temples, trying to lessen the ache she feels behind her eyes. When she’s alone, it’s so much easier to stop thinking, to pretend, just for a little while, that everything’s back to the way it was.

Someone clears their throat behind her, and Angela turns around sharply, ready to tell whoever it is to please leave her alone. However, she takes one look at her intruder and stops, the words dying in her throat.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize anyone was out here,” the woman says, her eyes widening in surprise.

The first thing Angela notices is how tall she is. And then, the suit she’s wearing. She’s wearing a men’s _suit_ , and carrying it so effortlessly that it makes Angela jealous. This woman must be the only other person at this party that’s the subject of more gossip than Angela. Her limbs are impossibly long, and one of her hands is wrapped around a glass of wine. She smiles at Angela, who immediately feels her face flush.

“It’s no trouble-” Angela looks at her curiously, and the woman switches her glass to her left hand, holding out the right to take Angela’s in her own. “My name is Moira. Moira O’Deorain. I’m visiting from Ireland, and I seem to have lost my companions.” She kisses Angela’s hand, the touch of her lips impossibly light, and then retreats from Angela’s space, leaning against the balcony. “Who do I have the pleasure of avoiding those awful people with?” she asks, and Angela can’t help but laugh. 

“Angela. Angela Ziegler.” She can’t help but wishing Moira wouldn’t have moved away, and the thought shocks her. She’s so intriguing, between her intimidating stature and her easy, disarming smile. Angela decides then and there to stay out here as long as possible.

“It’s lovely to meet you, Angela. Have you gotten tired of the crowd in there?”

Angela can’t help laughing. She hasn’t felt like this since-

She banishes the thought, sighing and glancing out at the garden. “They are so preoccupied with my misfortunes, and seem to think I should be drowning in grief for their amusement.” It occurs to her that she may be giving too much information to a stranger, but Angela can’t help it. She holds her tongue, though, hoping she hasn’t overstepped.

“I believe I understand being reduced to a spectacle instead of a human,” Moira says, taking a sip from her glass. “Forgive me if this is too forward, but would you care to dance?”

Angela can’t help it; she feels a well of confidence bubble up from an unknown place. “It may be forward of you to ask, but I am sure it would be just as scandalous for me to accept.” She smiles as Moira takes her hand, leaving her wine glass behind to wrap her arms around Angela’s waist. The music is faint, but they can hear it well enough to follow the dance.

Angela leans her head on Moira’s arm. If someone sees them, she’s sure they’ll be talking about how she’s already moved on, and how heartless she must be.

Let them talk, she thinks. She can’t seem to care when her heart is beating so quickly.

-

“Jack, I need you to do me a favor. I need you to bury that box under the fireplace tonight. As far down as you can go.”

“Of course, Miss Ziegler.”

“Tell no one. I’ll leave a note for you to deliver to Moira.”

“I would prefer to see you deliver it to her yourself,” he tells her, placing a hand over hers. “But I will keep it safe for you, Miss Ziegler.”

“Thank you,” she says, clutching at her sheets, as she tries to breathe evenly. She doesn’t want her staff to see her condition worsening. She’d been improving steadily until a few weeks ago, and she’d decided to keep it a secret between herself and her doctor. She didn’t want to worry anyone.

Angela opens the box one last time. Her ring is safe in its pouch, along with all of Moira’s letters. She reaches over to her bedside table, picking up an envelope she had sealed earlier. 

_Moira_ is written across the outside. Angela can remember every word she'd written.

_Dear Moira,_

_If you’re reading this, I’m already gone. I don’t want you to blame yourself. I’m so sorry it had to be this way. You and I were never meant to be together in this life, and I can only hope things go differently in the next._

_Forever yours,_

_Angela_

“I hope you can forgive me,” she says to the empty room. “And I hope I can see you again some day.”

Angela places the envelope underneath the rest of the box’s contents, and shuts the lid tight.

She closes her eyes and a single tear falls down her cheek.


	23. Halloween AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Halloween Skin AU, featuring Witch Mercy and Banshee Moira.  
> Heavily inspired by Throwing Bricks by Florence + The Machine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has been sitting in my drafts for weeks now, nearly finished, and I woke up today remembering I still had it hidden away. Enjoy! (I love banshee Moira way too much, not sorry)

Her skin is a beautiful pallid blue, her hair a dull white. Angela runs her fingers over a scar, barely touching. Feels her heart hammer in her chest once, twice. Once, twice. Once for her, once for her long lost lover. A heartbeat for a heartbeat.

“Do you remember who you are?” she asks, and then realizes her mistake. “Or, who you were?”

“No,” the once-woman says, and Angela cups her cheek, lifting her own chin up to look into those mismatched eyes. “but I remember you.”

The witch smiles, and sees it mirrored on waxy, purple lips. Her hand moves down, following a trail of freckles to a long, vertical scar. When she touches it, the banshee holds her breath. 

Angela counts to ten. Twenty-six beats.

“Who am I?” comes the voice, almost impossible to hear, but perfectly steady. Angela presses her hand flat against the scar, and she inhales. Exhales. 

It feels like ages ago that she first happened upon the tiny Irish village. That she put on another face to blend in with the people there, in search of information. She’d let herself get distracted by the tall redhead with peculiar eyes.

And of course, as humans do, she’d disappeared into the aether, to a place even Angela could’t follow, and oh, she had tried. Tried to stop the mortal death of the only woman she’d ever loved, and when she couldn’t prevent it, she did everything she could to reverse it.

She had immortality, yes, but it had never been such a curse. She had magic, yes - but it had never been so utterly useless.She knew there had to be a way, but she had all the time in the world, and her lover’s had just run out.

She’d settled on a keepsake. Something to remember her by. A heart, having just ceased its beating, suspended by magic in a way it’s former owner could never be, until Angela had the knowledge and the power to pluck it from its stasis and start it again.

Until now.

“Your name,” she whispers, “was Moira. When you died, I took your heart and kept it safe until I could bring you back. I promised, after all. I’m just sorry it took so long.”

Moira looks at her, her face peaceful and blank. “It seems like only a moment,” she mumbles, glancing down at her hands in confusion. “But everything feels so strange. I remember...” She flexes her fingers, and Angela feels the steady rhythm skip a singular step, correcting itself only an instant later. She starts to worry that she’s made a mistake. Or worse, Moira’s changed her mind, that ripping her from death had been cruel and selfish. She takes a step back, letting her hand fall from Moira’s chest.

“Do you still want this?” Angela asks. “To be alive, to be with me?” She’s been alone so long now, with only a goal to keep her going, that she never bothered to ask herself if she was making the right choice. When she’d told Moira she would bring her back, Moira had agreed, but what if things were different after all these years? What if she was too different? What if the Moira she had stitched together from bone and flesh and memory wasn’t the same as the woman she loved?

What if Angela, after all this time studying, sacrificing, pushing the very boundaries of magic, had gotten it all wrong?

She turns her head away, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath to stop any tears from falling. Her hand goes to her own heart, this time, wondering if Moira can hear it, inextricably tied with her own.

She feels Moira shift closer to her, and then a hand touches her face. Fingers brush a tear away, and then another, before sliding from her cheek to the back of her head, cradling it gently. 

“I remember you,” Moira says, her voice sending a shiver up Angela’s spine. She pulls Angela closer, until they’re chest to chest, and holds Angela’s head in both her hands. “I remember what I asked you to do. And you kept your promise.”

“I tried,” Angela manages to say through her tears, pushing her nose into Moira’s skin. “This was all I could do.”

“Angela,” she hears, and she struggles to move closer, filling every inch of space between them. Her name has never sounded like that, like the trickle of water in the desert. She wraps her arms around Moira’s waist, feeling those cold hands brush through her hair, pushing it to one side. “I want to live.” 

Angela opens her eyes, seeing nothing but blue until Moira moves one hand to nudge her chin to the side. “And if I can spend another lifetime with you, I will.”

“Not just another lifetime,” Angela says, her voice less watery now. “My lifetime. If that’s what you want.”

“Is that why I hear your heart beating?” Moira asks. “Like an echo of mine.”

“I needed something to bring you back. An anchor. I didn’t know what else to use, so I used myself. As long as I live, so do you.”

Moira hums, and then goes quiet for a moment. Angela tilts her head to get a better look at the banshee’s face; her mouth is open, just slightly, and Angela wants to kiss her more than she’s wanted almost anything else. Instead, she waits, hope curling in the pit of her stomach as Moira glances down, meeting her eyes.

“Thank you,” is all she says.

Angela feels a beat skip again. A weight disappears from her shoulders, one she’s been carrying for decades now.

Everything is right again.


	24. Airline AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moira is a pilot, and Angela is a flight attendant who's occasionally filled with rage.

Moira has known Angela for a long time. More than a decade, now. They met right after she’d graduated flight school, and had gone from working in the same field, to working for the same airline, to sharing an apartment. Now, Moira wakes up every morning wondering if today’s the day she’ll cave and ask Angela to marry her.

She’s pretty sure today is not that day though, seeing as Angela seems particularly murderous, only a thin veneer of cheerfulness plastered on her face that seems like it could crack at a moment’s notice. Moira knows well enough by now to give her a wide berth on days like these, but unfortunately, their coworkers don’t have that valuable experience.

Angela Ziegler is one of the best flight attendants Moira has ever worked with, regardless of their relationship status. She’s professional but kind, resourceful, witty, and thinks on her feet. There hasn’t been a situation in ten years she hasn’t been able to handle. 

And yet, without caffeine, she turns into an absolute _terror_.

They’re 9 hours into a flight to Sydney when Moira notices Angela’s demeanor take a turn for the worse. Even if she’s desperate, Angela refuses to drink the coffee on the plane, so Moira knows it’s only a matter of time before Gabriel and Jack see a side of Angela they’ll never forget. Jack is wandering the plane and Gabriel is making an announcement about seat belts; Angela brings Akande a bottle of water, and that’s when Moira decides she should check in.

“You alright, Angela?” 

“I’m fine, Moira, just a little headache.” Moira lets it slide, because the last thing she wants is to push. Someone else will inevitably throw the match into the fireplace, and it’s not going to be her.

After all, this is a long flight.

An hour later, Jack walks into the cockpit with look of unadulterated fear on his face. Akande chuckles, but Moira knows there’s nothing to laugh about.

“Please save me from your girlfriend,” he whispers, eyes wide. “She just threatened to throw Gabriel out of the airlock.” 

Akande’s chuckle becomes a full blown laugh, and he shakes his head as he glances toward Moira. “You really need to marry that girl,” he says, wiping a tear from his eye. 

Moira ignores him. There’s only an hour left until they land, and she’s mostly sure Angela won’t cause anyone bodily harm.  
Mostly.

-

They get off the plane and check into the airport hotel. Moira’s sitting up on the bed and Angela is laying down on her side, her nose touching Moira’s hip and one of her arms curled against Moira’s leg. Moira reaches over to set the alarm on her phone, grabbing one of her books from the nightstand, and Angela whines slightly until she returns to her original place. 

“You ready for bed, grumpy?” Moira asks.

Angela pouts, covering her eyes. “It’s not funny, Moira. I can’t believe I told Gabriel I would lock him in the bathroom.” 

“Wait, I thought Jack said you threatened to throw him off the plane.”

“Oh, that must have been after,” Angela says, mostly to herself. Moira bites her lip to keep from laughing. “I think I might have to start drinking less coffee.”

“You might be right, Angel.” 

She opens her book, balancing it one one leg, and runs her free hand through Angela’s hair. They sit in silence for a while as Moira reads, and Angela closes her eyes. At first, Moira thinks she’s fallen asleep, but after a few minutes, Angela starts playing with the hem of her shirt, winding it around her fingers idly. Suddenly, Moira has an idea.

“Hey, Ang?”

Angela opens her eyes, peering up at Moira. Her fingers stop moving. “What is it?”

“Would you want to get get married?”

Angela is quiet for a minute, and then she laughs, a tiny sound that Moira almost misses. “Are you asking me to marry you, Moira?” She looks strangely unaffected, and Moira has to remind herself that Angela can’t read her mind, can’t possibly know she’s been thinking about this for months. “I guess I am.”

Angela snorts. “Then I guess I’d like that.”

Moira lets out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding, and Angela yawns, stretching her arms across Moira’s lap. She sits up and swings her legs over the edge of the bed, and Moira raises an eyebrow. 

“Come on,” Angela says, standing and walking to Moira’s side, holding out her hand. “Let's go get coffee.”


	25. Engagement Ring AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angela agrees to help Fareeha pick out an engagement ring for her girlfriend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Moicy is not the only focus here, but it IS there, especially at the end. I love writing Fareeha and Angela as friends, and this idea would not leave me alone. I hope you enjoy!

"Ang, will you please come with me? I can't do this by myself."

"Reeha, she's your girlfriend. You're going to ask her to marry you but you don't know what kind of ring she'll like?"

Fareeha is silent for a moment, and Angela can see the faint blush on her cheeks. She rubs the back of her neck bashfully. "That's not it," she mumbles. "I'm just nervous, that's all. What if she hates it?"

"She's not going to hate it. Honestly, that's probably not what she's going to be thinking about."

Fareeha just stares at her with that pleading look that's worked on Angela every single time since they were in high school. 

It's a good thing she didn't have any plans for today.

"Oh, fine."

The first place they go to is huge. Fareeha is clearly overwhelmed by the selection, and despite Angela's attempts to steer her in the right direction, there are simply too many choices. The attendant that helps them keeps referring to them as "the happy couple" and giving them pointed looks, which only serves to make Fareeha flustered and Angela cackle. Angela thanks them, making some excuse or another and grabbing Fareeha’s hand, leading her out the door.

"That was so awkward," Fareeha groans as they leave. Angela still has a hand on her stomach, trying to control her laughter.

"Oh, don't worry, Fareeha. How many times has that happened over the years? I'm used to it by now. And besides," she says, pausing as she feels her phone vibrate in her pocket, "They don't need to know your whole story. It’s not like you’re ever going to see them again." She checks her phone, eyes lighting up as she sees a notification from Amélie. 

"I asked Amélie where Olivia got her ring.” Angela explains, typing back a reply. “I know her and Satya have similar tastes. Do you want to check it out? She sent me the address."

"You are a godsend."

"I know. What would you do without me? Also, I'm not sure if you know this, but Satya's a size 7."

"How did you know that?"

"What, you mean to say you _wouldn't_ ask your best friend's girlfriend to try on her rings so you know her ring size for this exact moment? I'm offended."

Fareeha looks like she’s going to burst out laughing or cry if she tries to answer. Angela drags her to the car, pulling up the navigation on her phone, and hands it to Fareeha. 

“Let’s go, no crying in the car.”

-

Luckily, it's not very far away, and in less than 15 minutes, they're walking through the door. 

A bubbly girl at the front desk waves to them as they approach the front desk. "What can I help you with today?" she asks. Angela nudges Fareeha a little. "I'm looking for an engagement ring, and a friend of ours got hers here."

"Awesome! What's your name?"

"Fareeha."

"Okay Fareeha, feel free to look around, and someone will be right with you!"

They're left alone, and Angela drags Fareeha over to one of the counters. "So what did you hate about the rings from the last place?" she asks as they both look down at the display cases.

Fareeha's mouth twists into a frown. "Too flashy. I think she would want something more understated. Just one stone, not a billion of them. But I like the yellow gold, and the ones that could fit into the wedding bands?"

“Okay, now remember that, because I’m sure they’re going to ask.” 

A few minutes later, a tall, red-headed woman approaches them. She's wearing black slacks and a black shirt, with a purple tie and a white coat, and there's a clipboard tucked under one of her arms. "Fareeha?" she calls, and Fareeha turns around, holding up her hand. "That's me."

"My name is Moira. It's nice to meet you, Fareeha. And...?" the woman looks at Angela questioningly, and she finds herself shrinking under the weight of that stare, hoping she isn’t blushing.

"Angela."

"Nice to meet you as well." She turns back to Fareeha, leaning her hands on the glass counter. "So, do you have anything specific you're looking for, and anything you're avoiding?"

Fareeha tells Moira what she'd told Angela, and the woman takes a few notes, staring at her clipboard intently. "Alright, I think that's enough information to get us a nice-sized selection. I'm going to bring out some things I think you'll like, alright?"

"Okay," Fareeha says, and Moira nods, opening the small gate that leads behind the counters and kneeling down. “Definitely only one stone?” she calls to Fareeha, picking up 2 rings and placing them in a velvet tray. Fareeha answers in the affirmative, and Moira slides down to the next counter, and then the next, inspecting each display. She kneels down at each one, sometimes pulling out a ring or two to put in the tray, and sometimes standing up empty handed. 

Angela watches her, enjoying the various expressions playing across her face as she concentrates on her task. She’s very handsome, that’s for sure, and Angela suddenly, strangely, hopes that Moira doesn’t make the same mistake their previous attendant had in assuming her and Fareeha were together.

Moira makes her way around the floor and circles back to them, the tray in her hand now filled with rings. “Okay, here’s ten solitaire rings that match your description pretty well. I picked some diamonds and a few other stones, but if there’s any you don’t like at all, let me know and we’ll rule them out. I know it’s difficult, so try and find the ones you like the least as opposed to the most, and that will help us narrow it down.”

This is already going much better than their previous attempt, and Fareeha seems to relax visibly; Angela leans next to her on the counter, looking down at the tray. “If you pick something pink, Satya might kill you.” 

Fareeha punches her lightly on the arm. “Wow, thanks Ang. Any other kernels of wisdom?”

Angela puts her hand under her chin, doing her best to look contemplative. Fareeha rolls her eyes, and she hears Moira chuckle. “She definitely wants a diamond.”

Fareeha blinks, and then not even a second later, her face flushes again. “Have you two talked about this?”

“I can neither confirm nor deny.” Angela says, holding her hands up. “Now please stop interrogating me and get to work.”

While Fareeha is looking at rings, listening to Moira’s occasional explanations, she watches Moira out of the corner of her eye, hoping she’s not being creepy. After they narrow the selection down to two, Moira walks off again to get a few more options, and Fareeha sighs, crossing her arms.

“You could have told me, you know.”

“Excuse me,” Angela tells her sternly, “I am allowed to talk to Satya in confidence. She’s my friend too now, you know.” She nudges Fareeha again until she’s smiling. “Besides, I wasn’t lying when I said you knew what she likes. I also wasn’t lying when I said she wasn’t going to care.”

“I hope you’re right,” Fareeha answers.

“I’m always right.”

Fareeha seems to pretend like she doesn’t hear that. “So, she’s cute, huh? I know you like redheads.”

Angela freezes, her eyes narrowing. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, sure you don’t.”

“Oh my god, Fareeha!” she groans, hands flying to her cheeks. “I’m never helping you again!” 

Moira appears behind the counter again, and Fareeha just laughs, as if to say she knows Angela is lying.

-

An hour later, Fareeha’s finally made a decision, a yellow gold band with a kite-shaped diamond, and Angela can’t help but giggle at the expression on her best friend’s face, caught between excitement and panic. She’s known Fareeha since they were teenagers, and Angela isn’t sure she’s ever seen her this happy with someone before; she’s absolutely positive that no one deserves it more than her best friend.

Angela watches Fareeha walk back from the counter. The smirk on her face is enough to make anyone nervous, and she tells Fareeha as much.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Fareeha says, in exactly the same tone Angela had used earlier.

Sure she doesn’t.

When they’re on their way out the door, waving goodbye to the girl at the front desk, Fareeha hands her a white card, her mischievous grin only growing. “So,” she whispers, “I got you something.”

Angela coughs, feeling her heart take up residence in her throat. The business card has the jewelers’ hours on one side, and the blank side is filled with a phone number written in permanent marker.

“You didn’t.”

“In my defense,” Fareeha says, opening the car door, “she gave me that, I did not ask for it. She asked if you were single, and I said _possibly_.”

“Fareeha.”

“I swear. I’m picking the ring up in a week, by the way, so if you want to come with me, the offer’s open.”

Angela tucks the card in her wallet, already knowing her answer.


	26. First Date AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moira and Angela get set up by their friends.

“Just because you're seeing someone doesn't mean I should."

Akande crosses his arms. "She's very pretty," he says, and Moira can tell that's not all he wants to say. "Her name is Angela and she works with Ashe. We all went out last night and I thought you'd like her."

Akande's been seeing Ashe for a few months now, and has apparently gone from taking her to fancy restaurants to hanging out with her coworkers. Moira had been convinced this wouldn't affect her, so she hadn't really cared, but now she realizes she's presumed too much.

"I haven't been on a date since before I was thirty, what makes you think I'd be interested now?"

"Moira." He's giving her that look again. The look that says _I'm judging you, and you should feel bad_. “Stop punishing yourself. Hasn’t it been long enough?”

She huffs, rolling her eyes. “I’m too old for this shit.” Akande ignores her, typing something on his phone, and a moment later hers is ringing. He’s sent her a phone number and a picture, which, despite her annoyance, she opens.

_Oh._

“I told you she was pretty. Just get a coffee or something. I’m not saying you’ve got to get married again.”

The woman in question is blonde, with wavy hair, a bit shorter than Ashe, but just as covered in tattoos. In the photo, she’s leaned over the table with Ashe on the other side, and they’re touching their wine glasses in a toast. According to Akande (not that Moira asked), she owns the tattoo shop where Ashe works, and Ashe had told him it had been a while since she last dated anyone.

“Does she know random people are giving out her number?” Moira asks, baffled that she’s even considering this. She’s been divorced for four years now, and she’s been telling herself it’s easier to be alone. It hadn’t exactly been an amicable breakup, and she wasn’t really keen on going through anything like that ever again.

And yet, here she is, staring at her phone, wondering.

“I told her you might message her.”

_Dammit._

Her and Angela agree to meet for coffee on Saturday morning. Moira lays in her bed staring at the ceiling for an hour after she wakes up, giving herself reason after reason not to go, but she made a promise, and it wouldn’t be fair to cancel now. _It’s just coffee_ , she tells herself. All she has to do is go and make small talk, and if she doesn’t have a good time, she never has to do it again. 

Besides, from the few messages they’ve sent back and forth, Angela seems nice. When she’d first texted her, Moira had been worried about it being awkward, but Angela wasn’t so difficult to talk to after all, at least over text. Hopefully it would be the same in person.

She makes it to the café with a few minutes to spare, and when she walk in, Moira sees Angela sitting at one of the tables. Somehow, she’s even prettier in person. She waves at Moira, tilting her chin toward the register. “Go order, I’ll be here,” Angela says, raising her voice to be heard over the hum of background music and muted conversations. 

A few minutes later Moira approaches the table with her coffee in hand, putting it down and taking off her sweater before she drops into the seat across from Angela. “Hello,” she says, and Angela smiles behind her cup. 

“Hello, Moira. Nice to meet you.”

-

 

“I don’t know, I think they’re cute together. Ashe seems happy, anyway.” 

Moira shrugs. “I’m just glad Akande’s been spending more time with her; it leaves him less time to insult my fashion choices.”

They’ve been talking for a while, mainly about their jobs and mutual friends. Moira mentions she hasn’t dated since her divorce, and Angela doesn’t bat an eye, telling Moira that she’s been single for a few years after a particularly bad breakup, and that Ashe had been trying to get her to go on a date.

“Hmm, that sounds familiar,” Moira says, rolling her eyes, and Angela giggles. She decides she likes the sound of Angela’s laugh.

After a while, Angela leans her elbows on the table, her empty cup dangling in one hand. "Can I ask you a question?" Moira nods, noticing right away that despite her smile, Angela’s about to ask her something serious; her eyes suddenly seem more distant than they had a second ago.

“Why did you decide to start dating again? I ask because I’ve had such a hard time convincing myself, and I almost didn’t do it at all.” 

It’s not the question she was expecting; Moira’s not sure how to answer, and she says so. “I don’t know, actually. Akande keeps telling me I’m self-sabotaging, and I guess part of it was to shut him up.” Angela’s smile regains its playfulness at that, and Moira smiles back. “But I was also tired of being afraid, and it’s been a long time, so I figured, why not?”

“Well, thanks for taking a chance on me," Angela says, biting her lip. Moira stares at her for a moment. She wonders if she and Angela are afraid of the same things.

“Likewise.”

Eventually, they both have to go, and Angela thanks Moira again. “I had a really good time,” she says. “Would you like to do it again sometime?”

She can’t understand why she’d been so nervous this morning. “I’d like that,” she replies, and when Angela kisses her on the cheek as they walk out the door together and go their separate ways, telling Moira to text her, she feels giddy for the first time in way too long.

-

Moira lays on her couch later, staring at her phone. Her last date was almost 15 years ago, and she has no idea when you're supposed to text people. Should she wait? What would she even say?

After she types and deletes her message a handful of times, she finally settles on one, pressing send and putting her phone on the table face down.

As if that’s going to stop her from checking it.

(It doesn’t.)

Akande messages her the next day with another picture of Ashe and Angela. This time, Ashe is taking a selfie, in the middle of laughing, and Angela is behind her, pouting with hands on her hips. She has ink on her nose, and a piece of tattoo stencil paper stuck to her forehead. 

_I’m meeting them at the shop to get drinks in a few, you should come, he writes_. Moira rolls her eyes. A few seconds later she gets a message from Angela, and she stops typing her reply to open it, trying to keep the smile off her face.

_Don't feel like you have to come, I'll see you tomorrow anyway. also omg did he send you that picture, he won’t tell me and I’m too short to get his phone :(_

She answers _it’s ok, I’ll be there. And yes. I’ll take his phone and delete it later if you want._

She erases her reply to Akande, sending just the middle finger emoji instead as she stands up to get her jacket.


	27. Art Restorers AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angela and Moira work as art restorers who document their process on social media.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is absolutely self-indulgent nonsense; I've been obsessed with watching art restoration videos on Instagram lately, and this is one of my favorite silly AUs.

“Hello, everyone! I'm Angela, one of the art restoration experts working at the Institute, and later today I'm going to give you a little tour of our offices and show you what we do on a daily basis. But first, I want to show you what I'm working on right now."

Angela switches her phone camera, flipping it from her face to the canvas she's had at her desk for the last few days. It's lying flat under a dropcloth, with a handful of brushes and solvents off to the side.

"So this," she explains," is a painting of the Madonna and Child by Giovanni Bellini. It was sent to us for restoration, and you can see it's definitely seen better days. It was originally stored in a much too humid environment, and so a lot of the paint has peeled off and the varnish is discolored. What's still there is coated in grime, so we're going to have to clean it and repaint some sections."

She points to one section where she's already done a good deal of work. "This section has already been cleaned, and you can see how it compares to over here," she gestures to the other side of the canvas, "where nothing has been done yet. Hopefully, the whole thing will look bright and beautiful when we're all finished!" She picks up a brush and dips it in a cup of clear liquid, painting over one of the eyes, and then takes a soft brush from her coat pocket and gently scrubs the canvas. "So this is acetone is mixed together with another solution so it will break down the grime without harming the canvas or the original pigments.”

She keeps scrubbing the canvas with her brush, and eventually, a whole new small area of the painting is illuminated, about the size of her fingertip. “The reason that it’s such a slow process is that we have to work on small areas at a time, as you can see here. This will probably take a few more weeks, and then after I'm all done, my partner will take over and start repainting the sections that have deteriorated."

As if she's been summoned, Moira appears at the door, carrying a painting in her hands, looking absolutely thrilled with herself. Angela keeps the camera focused on her desk, intent on finishing the section of video before she gives in to her curiosity. "I’ll be posting some progress photos and videos of this particular restoration so you can see how it’s coming along. In my next video, I’m going to show you some of the pieces we've just finished restoring and returned to the museum floor," she says, and stops recording, walking over to Moira's half of the office.

"Mor, you want to do a tour of the Renaissance wing with me?"

Moira places the painting on an easel and circles her desk, wrapping an arm around Angela's waist and pulling her close. "As long as you let me show you what I got first."

“Ooh, it must be something good,” she giggles as Moira lifts her a few inches off the floor.

“It definitely is. You remember that Grell painting we were waiting for?”

Angela braces her hands on Moira’s shoulders, her laughter suddenly evaporating. “Moira, no way!”

“They grabbed me while I was hanging the triptych back up and told me that it was here. And now it’s in our office. You want to see it?”

“Obviously.” Angela loves it when they get new things in, mostly because Moira’s excitement is always so contagious. “Can we film it? I’ll cut the sound out.”

Moira nods, putting her down and kissing her on the cheek, then on the mouth. She looks over at the setup on Angela’s desk. “How’s it going so far?” she asks, and Angela shrugs, squeezing Moira’s shoulders once before letting go, grabbing two sets of gloves from the dispenser on the wall and handing one to Moira.

“The varnish that was there is filthy, but I’ve gotten a good deal of it off so far. I think there’s actually an inscription or something on the bottom, and I can’t wait to see if we can read it.” 

“Was it under the frame?” Moira asks as she unpacks their new project, removing the wooden supports and the paper it’s wrapped in. 

“Yeah. What a mess,” Angela replies. She opens her camera again, stepping closer to Moira so the whole box is in the frame. She feels the typical butterflies in her stomach as she watches Moira unravel the protective covering, and as it falls away, the canvas itself comes into view. 

“Hmm, it looked so much bigger in the pictures,” Moira sighs. “Isn’t that always the case?” 

“It’s still gorgeous. Definitely needs a clean-up, though, the varnish is all cracked.” Angela zooms in a bit to showcase the faces of the painting’s subjects, the Three Muses, and then pans to some small details of the background. Once she’s got a few minutes of footage, she stops filming and sticks her phone back in her lab coat pocket. 

“I’m actually pretty impressed how good the colors look. But I bet they’ll look even better once you work your magic.” 

Angela sticks her tongue out. “Alright Moira, I believe you owe me a tour. Shall we?”

Moira smiles, and after taking a minute to cover the painting and remove her gloves, offers Angela her hand.

“Sounds like a wonderful idea.”


	28. Wedding AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angela and Moira are ex-spies who decide to get married. Someone unexpected crashes the party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is it, friends! The last day of Femslash February has arrived. Thank you so much for sticking with me and for all your kudos and wonderful comments. I couldn’t have done it without you!

Angela is nervous. Not because it's her wedding day, and not because she's having second thoughts about getting married. No, she's not nervous for any of the typical "wedding" reasons. Everything about today is perfect. She's marrying the love of her life, and they're surrounded by friends and family; this is everything she didn't know she wanted, until she had it.

So no, she's not nervous about getting married.

She's nervous because she and Moira are halfway through their vows when the leader of Talon walks through the door and sits down in a chair in the very back row. He's dressed to the nines in a patterned black tuxedo, and Angela locks eyes with him for a moment before a dozen different people react at the same time, drawing their weapons.

He doesn't move, doesn't draw a gun; he simply looks at Angela and smiles.

"Don't stop on my account," he says, his booming voice carrying easily over the chaos he's made of the room. Angela thinks about the pistol strapped to her leg, and wonders if she can get to it without being too conspicious. She knows Moira is thinking the same thing; they've been in this line of work too long to kick the habit just because they're retiring.

"What are you doing here, Akande?" Moira calls out to him, her hands squeezing Angela's almost too tightly. He regards her briefly before turning his head back to Angela, the smile never leaving his face.

"I heard you were getting married, and I wanted to be here. I thought sending an attaché with a gift would be... too impersonal, after everything we've been through. Plus, I love weddings."

Angela raises an eyebrow. That had not been the answer she was expecting, but she and Moira had dealt with Akande enough to know that if he wanted them dead, he'd have made a move already.

"So you're just here, what, to give your well wishes?"

"Well of course, dear. Do you think I don't respect the concept of retirement? Now, let's get on with it, you're keeping all of your guests in suspense."

Angela looks at Moira, who shrugs, her hold on Angela's hands loosening. "Alright," she says, pulling one hand out of Moira's grip and waving it in the air. "Everyone put your weapons down, please. For the next half hour, you're all going to shut up, sit still, and behave while we get married. Am I clear?"

Everyone nods in unison.

Angela catches Akande's eye one last time. He winks, settling back against his chair.

The rest of the ceremony goes off without a hitch. Her and Moira exchange vows, and kiss, followed by wild applause from everyone in the room. Then, finally, she takes Moira's hand and they walk back down the aisle, together this time. When they reach the door, they're suddenly enveloped by a crowd of people, everyone waiting around to give them a hug or congratulate them.

After a while, Angela starts to feel a bit overwhelmed, so she takes Moira's arm and pulls her outside for some fresh air.

"So, how's it feel to be stuck with me now?" Moira asks her, wrapping an arm around her waist and bending to kiss her again. Angela smiles against her mouth, vaguely registering the clicking of a bunch of phone cameras behind her. "Oh, I think I can handle it. And if not, I'm sure I can give you a call, right Akande?"

"Of course, dear. You know where to find me. I know we never saw eye to eye, but I wanted to congratulate you both. It's not very often that one finds love in this business."

The crowd seems to have dispersed with his arrival outside, and Angela certainly doesn't blame them; their former coworkers all have a history with Talon, and even to those who don't recognize him, he cuts an intimidating figure.

"Well, thank you," Angela says, and she finds that she means it. She lets go of Moira and approaches Akande, wrapping her arms around his shoulders in a tentative hug. He smiles, uncharacteristically tender, and kisses her on her cheek.

"I have something for you," he whispers, pulling a small box out from his blazer and placing it in Angela's palm. "Now, I'm going to make my exit before I scare any more of your guests. I know your retirement officially starts today, but don't be strangers." He moves past Angela and holds out his hand to Moira, who shakes it. They share a few words, but Angela doesn't manage to catch them.

"Enjoy your honeymoon," he says, giving Angela one last wink, and then he's gone.

She takes a deep breath, and then lets it out. "Well, you didn't think we were going to have an ordinary wedding, did you?"

Moira laughs. "I suppose it was too much to hope for."

"You want to go hide somewhere until the reception? If we're careful, no one will even notice until we're already gone." She shakes the little box slightly, trying to figure out what's inside, before handing it to Moira for safekeeping.

"Ugh, I thought you'd never ask. Can we stop and get something to eat?"

Angela slips her arm through Moira's, leading them behind a row of cars. "Oh my god, yes. I've just got to get the hell out of this dress first. Unzip me please?"

"Angela, we're in the middle of a parking lot."

"What, and you think I'm not prepared? Trust me."

Moira raises an eyebrow but does as she's told, sliding the zipper down to reveal a black, strapless jumpsuit. "Why do you look so surprised?" Angela asks. "I wanted to make sure I had something a but more practical just in case." She tosses her white dress over the top of one of the cars, knowing someone will find it later.

Holding out her hand again, she can't help but grinning as Moira takes it, spinning her around to get a good look at her.

"Nice choice."

"Thank you very much. Now, where are we going to celebrate being married _and_ retired? This is a big one."

"I was thinking dumplings."

Angela giggles, stopping Moira from spinning her before she gets dizzy.

"Good to know I made the correct choice in marrying you. Now, whose car are we stealing? We can't take the limo."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And then they lived happily ever after. ps, they stole McCree’s car, because he left the door unlocked with the keys inside.


	29. Ghost AU, Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone, I have an announcement! I will be continuing this series, starting with this second part of my Ghost AU :) this is also in the same universe as the Victorian AU, so all 3 go together. I’m hoping that I can continue to add to this pretty regularly, but definitely at least once a month. Thanks for reading!!
> 
> This particular piece talks about Moira as a ghost and her view on the events of the first part of the Ghost AU.

The woman who enters the house reminds Moira of her mother. Tall, with a button nose that doesn't at all match her face. Heels like tiny daggers. The only difference is that this woman's skirt is short enough to give her mother a fit; that, and she's swinging the door open like a mannerless buffoon, shouting to someone behind her. It occurs to her that this woman is probably related to her, distantly enough that they’ve never met but close enough to know where to find her. Or, more accurately, where to find her estate.

Ridiculous. It’s only been a few weeks since she died and they’re already trying to root through her things. She’s not sure what they’re even looking for, but they’re not going to find it. 

She stands up, walking to meet her guests. She’s unsure if this woman will recognize her, or even be able to see her. Luckily, Moira has always been very _adept_ at getting her point across, regardless of barriers.

They don't last an hour in the house before the door slams shut behind them and Moira is left alone once again. 

She thinks it's only fair. 

It's hard to keep track of time like this, Moira realizes, when you can float through walls and watch people pass by endlessly outside. At first, she tries to count the days, watching the appearances of people change each time they pass by - but as those days turn to years, she finds herself with missing numbers. Missing sections in a book she can't write. No way to touch paper, after all. Not for any useful amount of time, anyway.

So eventually, she gives up. Wanders aimlessly up and down stairs, looks out windows, watches the giant dresses turn into pearls and beads, into suits and ripped jeans and whatever those strange floppy shoes are. Watches as the house around her falls into disarray.

Moira isn't even sure how long it's been until the first family moves in. And then, suddenly, she's thrown right back into a timeline she's fallen out of for so long. 2004, they say, and after Moira's processed that she's actually been here for almost 100 years, she makes it her business to learn everything she can from these people.

The first thing she learns is that they really, really don't like ghosts. The second is that she really, really doesn't like it when they scream.

A few weeks later, she learns just how easy it is to get people to leave their houses.

Not unexpectedly, it starts to grow on her. Becomes something of a hobby, even if calling it that would be terribly inappropriate of her, and an excellent way to pass the time.

That is, until Angela Ziegler moves in.

When she walks through the door for the first time, Moira thinks she must be dreaming. Or maybe, she’s finally moved on. There’s no other way to explain how Angela is standing in front of her.

This woman can’t be Angela, and yet, she looks exactly like her. Same glittering blue eyes, same face, nearly identical mannerisms. Moira watches her and her realtor from the stairs, finding herself smiling as Angela runs back into the living room from the kitchen. “I’ll take it,” not-Angela says, and the woman next to her smiles nervously.

“Are you sure? You know, the…” The realtor looks around, before whispering, “The ghost thing.”

The woman rolls her eyes. “Mei, would you please stop with that? There’s no such thing as ghosts. Now where do I sign?”

“Alright, Angela, if you’re sure-”

Angela. Of course her name is _Angela_. 

Moira doesn’t know what to think, or what do do, so she settles for disappearing upstairs, trying to block out the sound of Angela’s laughter.

At one time, she would have given anything to hear it again. Now, it just hurts, unlike anything has been capable of doing for a hundred years.

But she can’t take it back. All she can do is push through it. 

Continue on like normal, pretending the woman living in her old house doesn’t look exactly like the woman she loved, doesn’t have the same name, doesn’t make her nonexistent heart ache.

Easier said than done.

It hurts to call her Angela, even in Moira’s own thoughts, but after a while, the name starts to feel more comfortable, especially as she realizes how different this Angela is from _her_ Angela. First of all, the profanities that come out of her mouth would be enough to embarrass a sailor, and she has a terrible habit of drinking wine when she gets home at night and falling asleep in the armchair. She also has absolutely terrible taste in interior design, and Moira is positive she’s never seen the woman in anything other than loungewear.

She’s not like Angela at all.

Instead of bothering her, it’s almost comforting. Because they might look alike, but that’s where the similarities end. This Angela doesn’t know her, doesn’t know anything about her. And if this is a cruel trick of fate, well, Moira’s going to do what she does best.

_Talk._

More specifically, she’s going to wait until Angela settles in with her nightly glass of wine, and try and sit down with her and have a conversation. It seems like a good plan, but in hindsight, Moira realizes she may have forgotten a few things.

One, that Angela clearly doesn’t believe in ghosts, and two, that she’s not exactly the polite company that Moira is used to.

“I know I may have had a little too much to drink, but I feel like this isn’t fair,” Angela mumbles into her glass, rubbing her eyes as if that’s going to change anything.

Moira smirks, leaning her chin on her hands. Looks like this woman can see her after all. “It’s awfully rude to move into someone’s home and not even introduce yourself,” she says, and despite her best efforts, the smirk widens, just the tiniest bit, when Angela jumps in her chair at the sound of her voice.

Strangely, Moira feels some sort of pride when Angela takes a deep breath, clearly trying to compose herself, and puts her glass down on the table in front of her. “It’s _also_ awfully rude to scare someone like that,” she counters, and Moira notices the shakiness of her voice, but chooses not to comment on it. 

“Fair enough,” Moira says, deciding she’s had enough for today. Maybe they both have. 

She disappears without another word, slipping from Angela’s sight, but she doesn’t stay away. Instead, she observes as Angela stands up, her expression still bewildered, and heads up the stairs, wine bottle and glass abandoned on the coffee table. 

Moira tells herself she shouldn’t feel guilty, but she does anyway. So the next morning, she follows the sound of chaos to Angela’s bathroom, where she’s doing something to her hair. She tries to clear her throat, do something to announce her presence, but Angela doesn’t seem to notice her until she gets closer. She jumps at the movement, and she must hurt herself, because she curses and holds her hand to her chest, dropping to dig through a cabinet under the sink.

Moira tries not to laugh. She really does, but Angela’s glare makes it even more impossible. Another string of profanities escapes her mouth, most of which Moira has never even heard before, but it does make her notice something.

“You’re German,” she says, more of a comment to herself than anything else, and tries unsuccessfully to cover up her laughter. 

“Swiss, actually,” Angela answers, shaking her head. Moira realizes that for all she’s complained about Angela’s lack of decorum, she’s never even bothered to introduce herself. 

“My name is Moira,” she says, and then turns to leave, deciding to give Angela some privacy. She heads down the stairs, deciding to watch the sun rise out the window near the kitchen table. A while later, she hears Angela shuffle across the wood floors in her atrocious fluffy slippers, heading towards the pantry.

“I’m Angela, if we’re apparently doing introductions,” she says. Moira watches her bustle around the kitchen, gathering ingredients for breakfast.

“Nice to meet you, Angela. I apologize for scaring you,” she replies, doing her best to keep a neutral expression as Angela gives her a doubtful look. Eventually, her gaze returns back to the kitchen counter, and Moira lets herself relax.

“It’s alright,” Angela concedes. “Clearly, I was not expecting company when I moved in here.”

The corner of Moira’s mouth turns up, and this time she doesn’t bother to hide it.

“That much is obvious.” For once, Moira is glad to be mostly transparent; she’s sure Angela would have thrown something at her otherwise.

-

They sit together while Angela eats breakfast, Moira alternating between watching the sky and the woman across from her. If Angela notices, she at least has the sense not to say anything. 

“I’m sure you don’t want me here,” she says as Angela takes a bite of her eggs, and when she doesn’t respond immediately, Moira decides it couldn’t hurt to ask, “Do you think you would be able to help me with something?”

Angela shrugs, looking a bit lost. “Maybe? What do you need help with?”

Moira knows she should be happy with that answer, but the pit forming in her stomach says otherwise. Isn’t this all she’s wanted all these years? To get closure? And now that she’s found someone who might be able to give it to her, she can’t believe she’s hesitating. Is it because this woman looks so much like the one who’d left her behind?

Is that what’s filling her with so much doubt?  
She’s never hesitated once while she was alive, and she’ll be damned if she’s going to do it in death. She looks over her shoulder toward the living room, trying her best to imagine what it looked like a hundred years ago, the last time she’d been there with Angela. Her Angela.

“There is something hidden under the fireplace, and I need you to retrieve it,” she whispers, barely loud enough to hear, but after a long moment, Angela nods. She stands up, walking into the living room, and Moira follows, disappearing and reappearing on the ottoman by the fireplace.

“As you can imagine, none of the people in this house stayed very long,” Moira explains. “If they could even see me, they never bothered to try and speak with me.”

Angela frowns. “So no one ever knew why you were still here.”

“Exactly. It’s a silly thing, really, but I need to make sure. Whatever you find in there,” she points to the fireplace grate, “is yours, but you have to promise me to keep it. Don’t throw it away, and don’t sell it.” Moira looks up at her, finally, hoping she can convey how important it is to her without saying it explicitly. “Swear that you won’t.”

Angela swears, and oddly enough, Moira believes her. She wonders what Angela will think when she finds the contents of the box, finds her own name at the bottom of the letters. Moira almost feels guilty, again, for asking Angela to do this; it will give Moira the answers she needs, but leave Angela with so many questions.

When she’d finally succumbed to her illness, her Angela had asked one of her servants to deliver the box, filled with all the letters Moira had ever sent her, along with her ring and a lock of her hair. One letter, though, was unopened, addressed to Moira in Angela’s small, elegant handwriting. All those years ago, she’d been so angry that she hadn’t dared to open it, and had left for Ireland in a rush, ordering the box to be hidden where no one could find it. She thought she would have time to grieve, time to be angry. 

But she hadn’t had as much time as she’d thought, and her one regret as she took her last breath had been not reading that letter. 

So when she’d regained consciousness and found herself back in her bedroom, the house eerily empty and her relatives ransacking her belongings, Moira had known the only way she was going to get some peace was to find out what was inside that envelope.

Angela’s voice shocks her back to the present. “Is this what you’re talking about, Moira?”

“It must be,” she answers, knowing very well that it is. The box looks the same, despite the patina dulling its brass finish. Angela carries the box over to the ottoman, sitting on the floor beside Moira. She opens the latch, very carefully, looking inside.

Angela is quiet while she looks through the box. Moira doesn’t bother to watch over her shoulder; she knows what must be in there. Angela pulls a letter out, a small thin envelope, and Moira hears a small gasp.

“You were right.”

Moira stays silent, staring at the letter in Angela’s hand, and after a few minutes, she looks up. Angela’s eyes are wide, confused; Moira wishes she could tell her everything, wishes that things could be different. Wishes, for the first time, that she was alive again.

“Would you so me one last favor? Read it out loud?” Moira asks quietly, and Angela just nods, opening the envelope carefully. 

She reads the letter with a steady voice, and Moira gives her credit for her composure. She’s been trapped in this house for a hundred years, and she never imagined someone would come along who could see her. Who could actually help her. Not someone like this. 

Maybe, she thinks, fate hadn’t been so cruel after all.

Moira smiles. The last word she hears is Angela’s name.


End file.
